


Red Moon Redemption

by MOONSUN4Life (MOONSUN4president), MOONSUN4president



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: F/F, Gay Rights, Gender Issues, Inspired by Red Dead Redemption, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption (2010), Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Women's Rights, moonsun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MOONSUN4president/pseuds/MOONSUN4Life, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MOONSUN4president/pseuds/MOONSUN4president
Summary: A gambler with a heart of gold and a few troublesome secrets. A law officer with a strong sense of justice and a dark past. A couple of ranchers who are deeply in love but are bound to lose everything.Follow the members of MAMAMOO in this intense Wild West tale set in the Red Dead Redemption universe.
Relationships: Ahn Hyejin | Hwasa/Jung Wheein, Kim Yongsun | Solar/Moon Byulyi | Moonbyul
Comments: 132
Kudos: 230





	1. A Place Called Home

**Author's Note:**

> FOREWORD
> 
> This story has been a long time in the making. Years in fact. Bursts of intense, frantic writing interspersed with long, crippling periods of writer’s block. Typical insecure writer stuff, really, and even now, as I prepare to let my baby take flight, I fear it’s going to come crashing to the ground and die a swift, splattered death. Or a horrible, drawn out one, whichever you prefer.
> 
> Typical insecure writer stuff.
> 
> But this story, more than any other story I’ve ever written, has been a labor of love, with all the unnecessary drama that love often entails. Countless times, I thought of throwing it out, of giving it up, of leaving it behind for good; but always, it kept coming back, cajoling here, tormenting there, unforgettable and impossible to resist. I think the reason for this is that it combines two of the things I love most: k-pop and video games, or more specifically, MAMAMOO and Red Dead Redemption. Both have brought me to dizzying levels of exhilaration and to the brink of despair (all Moomoos know the feeling of having to wait for a comeback, and those who have played through Red Dead Redemption 2’s story mode will remember the helplessness of witnessing first-hand Arthur Morgan’s inescapable fate); both ultimately changed me in ways I never could have expected or hoped.
> 
> I pray that my efforts can honor my muses and queens, and that it can do the work it is inspired from some measure of justice; but should it fail on both accounts, I hope that you, dear reader, will still enjoy the ride.
> 
> NOTES ON THE TEXT
> 
> Since this story is set in 1890’s America, where English was—and still is to this day—the dominant language, I had to figure out a simple and unobtrusive way to convey the fact that some of the characters spoke Korean. I eventually settled on the use of italics in dialogue lines where Korean is being spoken, although I have also occasionally made use of italics for emphasis, as is traditionally done.
> 
> While Asian immigrants were a common sight in 19th-century America, the vast majority of them were of Chinese descent and very few, if any, were actually from Korea. Though I have tried my best to be as historically accurate as possible, I have, in this particular respect, taken quite a bit of license, as MAMAMOO are all Korean. Since their presence on the American Frontier was an impossibility to begin with, I felt that their nationality would not present an insurmountable obstacle in suspending disbelief.
> 
> Just as racism, sexism and homophobia are a common problem in today’s society, so they were back in the Victorian era. For this reason, many a character in Red Moon Redemption will often express their prejudice and ignorance both in their words and through their actions, although they reflect in no way my own position on these issues. I hope these occurrences, loathsome as they may be, will not deter you, dear reader, from continuing your journey, but that they will instead be seen as means for our heroines to show their strength, resilience and courage in the face of adversity.

The view from the top of the hill encompassed her whole world, and she owed it all to the man who lay beneath the headstone at her feet.

It was a modest homestead—a small corral with a few good horses, a barn that could hold half a dozen heads of cattle, a tiny sheep pen and a chicken coop, a single-floor, one-bedroom farmhouse adjoined by a few rows of corn and other resilient vegetables that may pass for a garden—but it was her home. Hers and that of the woman who was her wife in every way but by law.

The hill where they had buried the old man stood on the edge of a rock cliff that made it impossible for anyone to approach the property except from the west. There were also enough trees around to provide some cover from prying eyes, although the glow of oil lanterns could be spied from quite afar in the dead of night. This made them an easy target for bandits and rustlers, which is why Jung Wheein cherished her Bluetick Coonhound, Suwon, who was not only a loyal companion but a dependable guardian as well. While he was not the largest of dogs, he certainly packed a nasty bite when he was angered; and trespassers enraged him.

But Suwon was far from enraged as he stood by Wheein’s side, wagging his tail and sniffing the air.

 _“What’s on the wind, Suwon?”_ Wheein asked.

Suwon looked up at her and cocked his head in that way all dogs do when their favorite humans speak to them, then pricked up his ears and went still.

_“Did you hear something, boy? What is it?”_

He sniffed the air a few more times and, picking up a scent, took off running towards whatever it was that had caught his attention.

 _“Suwon-ah!”_ Wheein called after him, then grumbled to herself, _“Where’s he running off to now?”_

She waved him off and decided to do one last round of the property to make sure that everything was in order. She was about to head back home and call it a day when she remembered that they were running low on firewood. She ignored her growling stomach for another hour and took out her vexation on the entire pile of logs, not giving a thought to the world of pain her shoulders and arms would bring her the next day.

Suwon eventually reappeared and happily trotted along when Wheein headed inside the house to get cleaned up, then made her way into the kitchen where her partner was preparing dinner, humming a wistful tune. Wheein watched in silence for a while, delighted by the beauty she beheld and heard, yet heartbroken that the woman she loved might no longer be happy living here with her.

 _“Sulking behind my back?”_ Wheein asked lightly as she wrapped her arms around her partner's waist and nuzzled her neck.

 _“You’re the one standing behind me,”_ Ahn Hyejin replied in a tone that would have fooled anyone but Wheein into believing everything was fine.

She turned Hyejin around to kiss her on the lips, then looked deep into her eyes. _“What’s wrong, darling?”_

Hyejin lowered her gaze and sighed. _“You know what’s wrong. I’m tired of this… Working from sunrise to sundown, breaking our backs and for what? We barely make enough to feed ourselves and we never have time to do anything else.”_

Wheein shook her head. _“I know, Hyejinie, but what else would we do?”_

 _“Anything!”_ Hyejin exclaimed. _“Everything! We could go on romantic strolls in the woods, watch the sun set over the river, gaze at the stars… Or we could move to the city!”_

Wheein groaned inwardly, the thought of living in the city making her want to howl in despair. But she could see the excitement in Hyejin’s eyes as she spoke, and knowing she no longer had that effect on Hyejin was what was really killing her.

 _“We can’t live off thin air,”_ she protested meekly, not even buying her own excuses anymore.

 _“We wouldn’t have to,”_ Hyejin insisted. _“We could join the music-hall and perform on stage, you and me! And you’d no longer need to call yourself ‘John Wynn’ and pretend to be my husband... Oh, my love, it would be wonderful!”_

Perhaps it was hearing Hyejin call her “my love” that broke down her last barrier, but Wheein finally relented. _“If it means that much to you, then I’ll head into town tomorrow and see what we can do about selling the ranch.”_

Hyejin’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened. _“Really? You mean that?”_

_“Yes, my darling, I do.”_

Hyejin cupped her face in her hands and kissed her, very gently, as though she feared this was a dream and she would wake up, her lips barely brushing against Wheein’s; then little by little, her kisses became more insistent, more pressing, until Wheein could bear it no longer, pulling Hyejin into a close embrace so that their mouths, their bodies, became one.

Hyejin broke their kiss suddenly, shockingly, leaving Wheein out of breath and blinking.

 _“Go wait for me in the bedroom,”_ she said. _“There’s no need for good food to go to waste.”_

Then, seeing Wheein standing there with her mouth agape, she added, _“Go on, I won’t be long. Promise.”_

Wheein shook her head, thinking it an odd moment to be pragmatic, but she made her way to their bedroom without protest, took off all her clothes and lay down on the bed, feeling slightly ridiculous.

That feeling, however, was short-lived, as she soon heard Hyejin singing a well-known music-hall tune from the hallway, her voice getting closer until she entered the room as though it were a stage. She continued to sing as she began to undress, her body undulating as she shed every piece of clothing covering it. Then she climbed onto the bed and advanced towards Wheein with hungry eyes as though she were a wild cat on the prowl and Wheein were her prey.

Wheein let her approach, her eyes never leaving Hyejin’s, a knowing smile spreading over her face. Hyejin kissed her several times, with quick lunging pecks that felt almost as though she were trying to bite Wheein’s lips, then started gently nibbling on Wheein’s earlobe before making her way down her neck, chest, and stomach. Hyejin lingered there for an agonizingly long moment before she finally reached the part of Wheein that was silently pleading for her attention.

Wheein closed her eyes and threw her head back with a loud gasp as soon as Hyejin’s tongue entered her. She let the delightful sensations quicken her breath and blood, her pleasure slowly building up until she could do nothing but grasp at anything she could latch on to, fingers digging into the pillow, the mattress, and even Hyejin’s scalp as her climax overtook her. Later, when Hyejin lay in her arms, spent and content, Wheein could still taste her own ecstasy on Hyejin’s lips as the two of them kissed. They spoke quietly for a long while after, never completely coming apart until sleep finally came over them both.

Wheein started awake, in pitch black darkness, thinking she had heard a noise. She strained her ears to pick up the sound again, then realized that it was Suwon barking madly.

Something was definitely wrong.

 _“Where are you going?”_ Hyejin asked, her voice raspy with sleep.

 _“Someone’s here,”_ Wheein said in a hushed tone, quickly throwing on a shirt and grabbing her bow and arrows.

 _“What?”_ Hyejin said as she sat up and got out of bed. _“Who…? How…?”_

 _“Can’t you hear the dog?”_ Wheein’s words came out sounding harsher than she had meant to. _“He only goes crazy like this when he feels we’re in danger.”_

Hyejin did not bother to argue or to cover her nakedness up, running right out of the bedroom instead and straight into the kitchen to get her Winchester rifle. Wheein, for her part, headed for the back door and opened it as quietly as she could, then snuck out with an arrow nocked and her bow at the ready.

She spotted one of the intruders just before he saw her and, quick as lightning, drew back the bowstring and loosed the arrow. It hit the intruder in the leg as he tried to run away, and he fell to the ground, howling in pain. Wheein ignored him and immediately got ready to shoot again as she caught a flash of movement in the corner of her eye. She realized at the last possible instant that Suwon had caught up with another one of the intruders and sunk his teeth into one of his calves, keeping him pinned to the ground while the man desperately tried to kick him off with the foot of his other leg. Wheein ran up to them and, aiming at the second intruder’s head, said in slightly accented English:

“You quit kicking the dog right now or I promise you’re gonna have an arrow sticking out of your eyeball before you take your last breath.”

The man stopped struggling and raised his hands to signal his surrender. Wheein called Suwon off but did not lower her bow.

“Now you listen to me, and you listen to me well,” she said. “I didn’t kill your friend and I’m going to let you live this time. But if I ever see you or anyone else around here again, you won’t be so lucky then. Understood?”

The man nodded yes and Wheein told him to clear off her property before she changed her mind. Hyejin came running and gave her a puzzled look, then said:

_“I saw another guy limping away with an arrow sticking out of his leg and figured there was a reason he was still alive. You let this one go, too?”_

_“Dead people always complicate things,”_ Wheein said, _“even when they’re scum. Did you see anyone else?”_

Hyejin told her that she had gone around the house and had not seen anyone else, but that she had not checked the barn or the corral. Wheein clicked her tongue for Suwon to follow, and the three of them set off to secure the rest of the property.

Once she was certain that there was no one else around, Wheein turned to Hyejin and said:

_“If I’d had any doubt about selling this place, they’ve all gone up in smoke now.”_

Hyejin brushed Wheein’s hair out of her face and caressed her cheek. _“My brave, beautiful Wheein. Let’s go back to bed.”_

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTE:** If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	2. High Stakes

They called her Billy because Byulyi was a name that went right over their heads; and because they thought she was a man.

Not that she had ever made any effort to dispel the illusion, what with her dark gray men’s pants and black riding boots that were always dusty from the road; or the white men’s shirt she wore under a black denim cut-off vest; or the tan frock coat that made her look bigger than she really was; or the charcoal gambler hat she sported over her shortish black hair; or the way she carried a suitably large Schofield revolver on her hip and carried herself with a suitably convincing swagger that said gunslinger with a dash of trouble.

But trouble was the farthest thing on Moon Byulyi’s mind as she pushed through the swing doors of the Valentine saloon, made a beeline for the bar, and ordered a beer.  
“Get one for yourself too, while you’re at it,” she told the bartender, slapping a couple of quarters on the bar.

“Thank you, Billy,” Clayton Hanley said, opening a bottle and clinking it against the one he had just handed Byulyi. “Here’s to your health and good fortune.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Byulyi said. “I could really use a stretch of good luck.”

“I bet I could make you feel lucky,” a busty young woman cooed as she approached Byulyi.

“Hey, Annabelle,” Byulyi said in a flat, unenthusiastic tone. “I thought today was your day off.”

“I ain’t workin’,” Annabelle said, arranging the lapels of Byulyi’s coat in an obvious attempt to be appealing. “Just thought I’d come in to see if you were here. Wanna buy me a drink?”

The last thing Byulyi wanted was for Annabelle Lee to believe she was interested in her, but refusing anyone a drink, let alone a woman, was not something Byulyi had ever learned to do. She sighed and placed another quarter on the bar.

“Clayton, why don’t you give Annabelle her usual? On me.”

“Sorry, Billy,” Hanley said, “but Annabelle’s tastes are on the pricey side of things.”

Byulyi gave him a wary look. “How pricey?”

“A dollar,” Hanley said after throwing an accusatory glance at Annabelle.

Byulyi let out a disbelieving huff. “A dollar? For one drink?”

Hanley nodded and Byulyi turned to look at Annabelle. “What, do I look like I’m made of gold or something?”

Annabelle laughed and tried to cuddle up to Byulyi, who repealed her advances. “Come on, Billy, it’s just one drink, I promise.”

Byulyi let out another sigh and fished a dollar out of her pocket, much to Annabelle’s delight.

“Always the gentleman, aren’t you, Billy?” Her lips, made up in a bright shade of red, curled into a seductive smile. “How I wish you’d let me show you a good time... I’d do it for free, too, you know? For you?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Byulyi took a big swig of her beer, her skin crawling in disgust at the thought of all the men who had had Annabelle in the few years that she had known her. Not that she blamed Annabelle for becoming a working girl—Byulyi knew all too well how limited prospects were for an unmarried woman in her twenties—but she’d be damned if she ever bedded a harlot. Not that Annabelle ever took no for an answer.

“What is it, Billy?” she asked. “Don’t you like me? Or is it that you don’t like women?”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Byulyi said with a dismissive snort.

“Then what? Are you impotent?” she ventured, lowering her voice, her smile like a bloody gash on her face. “Is that it, Billy?”

Byulyi flashed her an angry look and growled between clenched teeth, “Watch your mouth, woman, ‘less you think a couple of fat lips would look attractive on you.”

“That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t get it up!” Annabelle spoke louder this time, then let out a raucous laugh, and Byulyi had to call upon every ounce of self-control she possessed not to slap the insolent whore.

“Oh, Billy,” Annabelle continued in a pitying tone, her powdered face, coal-black eyeliner and painted cheeks making her look like something out of a circus. “I’m sure I can cure you of that problem if you give me a chance...”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens,” Byulyi said in an icy tone. “Enjoy your expensive drink, ’cause that’s the last one you’ll get from me in a long while.”

She strode away with Annabelle’s cackle on her heels, intent on making a dignified exit. She had nearly reached the swing doors when someone called out to her and Byulyi saw the barber, Elmer Tindell, approaching with an expecting look on his carefully groomed face.

“Where you running off to? I was hoping you’d join us for a quick game.”

Byuyi shook her head. “I don’t know, Elmer, I don’t feel all that lucky right now.”

“Luck’s like any other lady, Billy. She just needs some charming and the irresistible sound of cold, hard cash.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know that I want to spend any more of my cold, hard cash on another ungrateful lady,” Byulyi said bitterly.

“You mean Annabelle?” Tindell snorted. “She ain’t no lady, that one. Someone needs to teach her a lesson, and some manners while they’re at it. Come on, Billy, a little poker with some friends has never hurt a man. At least not as much as a woman can.”

The five hundred dollars Byulyi owed the local loan shark told her otherwise, but Elmer Tindell did not need to know that. And so Byulyi found herself sitting at one of the corner tables with Tindell and two other men whose faces she knew well, but whose names she kept mixing up. Was the black man’s name Wendell White and the white man’s, Sampson Black, or was it the other way around?

She played for far longer than she should have, which was long enough for her luck to begin to turn. If she quit now, she would not have lost enough to really hurt; but a gambler was never happy with good enough, and Byulyi let her card buddies coax her into playing a little longer. Long enough for Wendell White—the black man—to bust out and for Elmer Tindell to bow out with a claim that his wife would kill him if he lost all his money at poker again, so that it was only her, Sampson Black, and a sizeable pile of chips in the middle of the table.

Black had a good poker face, Byulyi had to give him that; but he was also reckless and impatient, which she had used to her advantage at every opportunity. And now, he had gone all in, which would be the end of him.

Because there was no way he was going to beat the hand she had: three queens over a pair of fours. A full house. She pushed the remainder of her chips towards the center of the table, then laid down her cards, just barely suppressing a self-satisfied smirk.

Black’s eyes quickly went from the cards on the table to her face, and she saw something flash there. Surprise? Anger? He hesitated for a beat, then splayed his cards in front of him. Byulyi was about to go for the pot when she looked at her opponent’s hand and froze: he had two fours, plus the two that were on the table.

Four of a kind. A winning hand.

And now Sampson Black was gathering his gains, leaving her with barely enough money to buy herself a drink. She swallowed, her throat clicking from the lump that had suddenly lodged itself there.

If Tindell’s wife was going to kill him for getting cleaned out at poker, what would Hank Stanton do to Byulyi when he heard that Sampson Black now had the money that she owed him?

“Had enough?“ a triumphant Sampson Black asked as he began to stack his chips, while his companion, Wendell White, hooted and slapped him on the back, crushing what was left of Byulyi’s plummeting spirits.

“I reckon I’ll take a hint and just accept that Lady Luck wants nothing to do with me today,” Byulyi said.

“She’ll come back to you soon enough,” White said. “She ain’t gonna stick around Black’s ugly mug long, I can tell you that.”

“Look who’s talking about ugly mugs here,” Black objected. “Like yours isn’t something that’d scare little kids.”

Byulyi left the two men to their bickering and went out looking for the newsboy. She found him near the train station, all bristle-haired and dirty-clothed and squeaky-voiced, holding up a copy of _The New Hanover Gazette_ and shouting out the headlines. She handed him a coin, which he took with his ink-stained fingers, then found a bench on the station’s boarding platform where she could sit to read her paper.

She was a few pages in when a train pulled up to the station and passengers began to pour out onto the platform. Byulyi watched them for a moment, out of curiosity, and was about to go back to her reading when one of the passengers caught her eye. And did not let go.

She wore the clothes of a city girl, modest yet elegant, in a style that complimented both her waist, which was tiny, and her chest, which was a flattering size. Her flowing dark hair shone in the sunlight and her pale skin seemed to radiate, but it was her face that had captured Byulyi’s attention: a perfect round-cheeked oval the color of cream, rosy lips like candy, a slightly upturned nose, and the flawless arches of her eyebrows over warm brown eyes that were larger than was typical in East Asian women. Even the shocked, disgusted expression she bore as the town’s offensive smell hit her could not detract from her beauty.

She was everything women like Annabelle Lee could never hope to be with their painted faces and frilly, lacy dresses.

The beautiful stranger pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and nose in a visible effort to conceal her revulsion. The gesture was as endearing as it was futile, and Byulyi could not help but smile.

Perhaps Lady Luck had not deserted her after all.

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** Sampson Black and Wendell White, better known as Mr. Black and Mr. White, are minor characters whom the player character can encounter in _Red Dead Redemption 2_. Their names are very much in line with the kind of humor that is common in most, if not all, Rockstar Games titles.

If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	3. A New Sheriff in Town

Nothing could have prepared Kim Yongsun, Saint-Denis’ sole female representative of the law, for the turn her life would take that day.

She had come in early as she always did to review one of the cases no one else wanted, because that meant no one would be around to direct sneering looks and lewd comments her way. At least that was what she had thought until a strident voice suddenly shattered the silence and nearly made her jump out of her own skin.

“Congratulations, Johnson, you just got promoted!”

Yongsun was left speechless for a moment. “Promoted?” she finally said, her voice strained with shock. “What did I do?”

The officer who had startled her, a man with a hyenic face whose name she did not care to remember, shrugged. “All I know is that the sheriff of some hick town is having some sorta trouble with a couple of Chinks and he needs someone who can speak their bastard language, so you’re it.”

His words were dripping with contempt and there was an unmistakable air of smugness on his face as he said this, but Yongsun was not about to let this man—or any man—rile her up. She took a deep breath and let the air out slowly, then asked:

“How do you know they speak the same language as me?”

“I don’t know that, but the chief says you’re going, so you’re going.”

“And why isn’t the chief telling me this himself? You and I are the same rank.”

Her colleague gave her a smirk that bordered on malicious. “Chief’s busy, but you can go ask him yourself if you want.”

Of course, the chief would treat her with nothing but scorn, as he had done right from the beginning. It did not matter that Yongsun had worked harder than any of the men to get where she was: as far as the chief was concerned, she had only gotten the appointment because she had been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, saving a powerful man’s life in the process. Never mind the fact that she had gotten shot or that the officer who had assisted her had been too drunk to think straight, let alone shoot. She was a woman, and Asian to boot, and she had had the gall to report a fellow officer for being drunk on the job, breaking a cardinal—if unwritten—rule of the law enforcement fraternity. As far as the chief was concerned, she had no business being a cop; and since he could not fire her, he would get rid of her.

Fine, Yongsun thought, she would go. Saint-Denis had brought her nothing but disappointment anyway, so perhaps a fresh start was what she needed. If that meant she had to move to a cattle town in the sticks, so be it. She would do what needed to be done. She always did.

She packed a suitcase with the clothes she habitually wore, but left her police uniform behind, as it would be of no use to her outside of Saint-Denis. She then bought a ticket—it was pricier than she would have believed—and got on one of the passenger cars, all of which were nearly filled to capacity. She eventually found a free seat and sat down, trying her best ignore the pungent smells of the multitude of unwashed bodies in equally unwashed clothes that were all around her.

It was early in the afternoon when the train aboard which she took place pulled along the Valentine station. A few passengers got off at the same time she did, but several more joined the many who would continue further west, perhaps as far as New Austin and the high-stakes gambling dens of Blackwater or the alluring mines of Gaptooth Ridge. She was immediately struck by a stench of cattle manure so overpowering, she had to press the back of her hand against her nose and mouth to keep from gagging.

“First time in Valentine, huh?”

He was sitting on a bench and peering at her from behind a newspaper with an amused look on his face. A face that was as smooth-skinned and as plump-lipped as a girl’s, with a lopsided smile that parted in a teasing grin to reveal a set of teeth that were almost too white and too even to be real. His hair, which was neither long nor short, fell right out of his hat and straight unto his shoulders in a shade of black that evoked a starlit night just as easily as it did a moonlit one. But it was his eyes, which were a rich, dark brown, that made the strongest impression on Yongsun: inquisitive, all-encompassing and distinctively East Asian. Not the kind of eyes she had expected to see in a town such as Valentine.

Yongsun found herself unable to respond, her throat tight from holding her breath. Whether it was the shocking smell that had assaulted her or the sight of the handsome stranger that was the cause of this, she could not have decided. She blinked a few times and swallowed hard before she could finally bring herself to speak:

“Excuse me?”

He put away his newspaper and got to his feet. “You can always tell who’s a newcomer to this town by the look on their face when the stink hits them.” His smile widened. “It’s the exact same look that’s on your face right now. A very pretty face, too, if you’ll pardon my forwardness.”

Yongsun was at a loss for words, her cheeks suddenly burning. “You’re quite the bold one, aren’t you?”

“Not usually, no,” the young man said with another one of his lopsided, charming grins. “At least not with folks I’ve only just met. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in any way.”

He took off his hat and pressed it against his chest, then bowed slightly at the waist to convey his apology.

“Oh, there’s no need for an apology!” Yongsun assured him. “I’m not offended in the least, just… not used to compliments, I guess.”

The young man put his hat back on, shook his head and, for an instant, looked like he was going to speak; then he seemed to change his mind, extended a hand and said:

“I’m Billy Moon. Pleased to meet you, Miss…?”

“Kim Yongsun.” His hand was as soft as silk when she shook it. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“If I may ask, what brings you to Valentine, _Miss Yongsun? Is someone expecting you?”_ He said that last part in Korean, using the honorific _Kim Yongsun-ssi_.

Yongsun was strangely moved at hearing the familiar sounds of her native language for the first time in years. _“I believe the sheriff is expecting me.”_

Her answer surprised him. _“The sheriff? You mean your husband would let a beautiful woman such as yourself travel to a strange town on her own?”_

Yongsun gave him an incredulous look. _“This is 1898, Mr. Moon, a woman can travel on her own just fine these days. And even if there was a husband—which there isn’t—I can take care of myself.”_

She was not sure why she had deemed it necessary to mention her marital status to a complete stranger, but something about his assumption that she was married had rubbed her the wrong way.

 _“I didn’t mean to imply—”_ Billy began, then thought better of it and said, _“I can see that I’ve offended you this time. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll show you around town and buy you dinner. The lamb’s fry at the saloon is definitely worth a try.”_

Yongsun did not know what to make of this young man. On the one hand, she felt as though she were a bee that had come across the most irresistibly fragrant flower to ever exist; on the other hand, something about Billy Moon struck her as odd, as though he were not quite what he appeared to be.

 _“Your offer is tempting,”_ she said after a moment, _“but I’ll have to think about it.”_

 _“Of course,”_ Billy said. _“Let me at least take you to the sheriff’s office. You can meet me at the saloon later if you decide to join me.”_

Billy tried to get a hold of Yongsun’s suitcase, but she pulled it out of his grasp and said, _“I can also carry my own luggage, thank you.”_

_“I can see that, Miss Yongsun, but a gentleman would insist. I insist.”_

_“No offense, Mr. Moon, but you don’t look much like a gentleman to me.”_

_“No offense taken.”_ Billy tried to take the suitcase from her again and, this time, Yongsun let him. _“Now if you’ll walk with me, it’s not too far. Right this way.”_

While the sheriff’s office and the train station were on opposite ends of town, Valentine was small enough that everywhere was a short distance from anywhere else. This is how, minutes later, Billy and Yongsun found themselves walking through the door to the sheriff’s office, where a man, who Yongsun guessed was in his mid to late forties, greeted them with a silent look of curiosity from behind the desk he was seated at. Two other men, who were about the same age but much more imposing in size, stood on the opposite side of the room with a look on their faces that was an odd combination of jaw-dropping admiration and outright hostility.

“Well, if it ain’t Billy Moon, in the flesh!” the first man exclaimed with exaggerated cheerfulness. _“To what do I owe this dubious honor?”_

“I was just helping Miss Yongsun here, sheriff. Won’t be sticking around.” Billy put down the suitcase he had been carrying and bowed at Yongsun, then nodded at the sheriff and the other two men before making his exit. The sheriff immediately turned his attention to Yongsun.

“You the Chinese lady from Saint-Denis?” he asked without preamble, his face a shade or two darker than Billy’s and leathery where it was not covered with whiskers.

“I’m afraid I’m not Chinese,” Yongsun said with a hint of sarcasm that went right over the sheriff’s head, “but I was sent by the chief of police in Saint-Denis, yes.”

“Say what you will about them Chinks,” one of the big men—whom Yongsun guessed were the sheriff’s deputies—commented, “but their ladies sure is pretty...”

“And who exactly asked for your opinion on the Chinks or their ladies, Green?” the sheriff asked.

“Sorry, sheriff,” the man named Green said.

“She just said she weren’t Chinese,” the other man reminded him.

“Well, she looks Chinese enough,” Green muttered in a sheepish tone.

“Like you could tell a Chinese woman from your ass,” Coburn shot at the as-of-yet unnamed man, who turned a bright shade of red but said nothing.

Coburn got up from the chair he had been sitting on and extended a hand. “Uriah Coburn, please excuse my men’s lack of manners, Miss...?”

“Kim Yongsun,” she replied as she shook the sheriff’s hand and was struck by how much smoother Billy Moon’s hand had felt. “I’ve had much worse than deputies saying I was pretty or not Chinese, as far as manners go.”

Coburn gave her a wry and oddly conspirational smile. “I bet you have. So it’s true what they say about the cops in Saint-Denis, then? That they’re all queer?”

The question left Yongsun nonplussed. “I wouldn’t have a clue,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I was too busy doing my job.”

Coburn’s sudden burst of laughter startled her a bit, but she quickly recovered and pretended she got the joke.

“I kind of like you, Miss Johnson,” Coburn said, not realizing—or not caring—that he had mispronounced her name. “You’re pretty sharp, for an Oriental.”

Yongsun forced a smile and nodded as though she agreed with the sheriff. At least he wasn’t hurling abuse at her, which was a much better start than the one she had had in Saint-Denis.

“But where are my manners?” Coburn exclaimed. “Guess I’ve been hanging around these two oafs for too long, huh? Miss Johnson, these are my deputies, Elias Green and Otis Skinner. They’re not too smart, but they get the job done. Usually.”

Yongsun bowed slightly at the deputies but refrained from shaking their hands, since neither of them offered. Something in the way they looked at her set off a number of alarm bells in the back of her mind, but she quickly pushed the thought away. “Nice to meet you, gentlemen,” she said, although she suspected there was nothing gentlemanly about either of them.

“As I said, no manners.” Coburn’s disapproval was plain to see, but he chose not to dwell on the matter. “You got a place to stay? The apartment upstairs is free if you’d like to use it.” A thought suddenly struck him. “Unless you and Billy…? Are you two related, or…?”

The question clearly came from the absurd presumption that all Asians somehow knew one another, yet the insinuation that she and Billy Moon were not only more than mere acquaintances but possibly intimate made Yongsun feel as though she had been caught red-handed. Her face suddenly felt very warm and Yongsun let out a nervous laugh to hide her awkwardness.

“Oh, no, no, no! Mr. Moon and I have only just met!” she exclaimed, then remembered the question about her accommodations and added, “Now I appreciate your generous offer, sheriff, but I don’t plan on staying in Valentine very long. I was given a special allowance by the police department in Saint-Denis, so I’ll just rent a room at the hotel.”

She and Billy had walked by the Saints Hotel on their way to the sheriff’s office and Yongsun had noticed a sign that said that guests could enjoy a hot bath for twenty-five cents. It would be something of a luxury, but one she could afford if it meant she would not have to go around with the smell of manure constantly clinging to her.

Coburn gave her a perplexed look. “The hotel? At the outrageous rates that crook McAllister charges? Nonsense!”

“No doubt it is,” Yongsun agreed, “but I’m sure I can convince Mr. McAllister to give me a special rate.”

“As you wish,” Coburn said, “but don’t expect the Saints to live up to its name. Hellhole’s more like it.”

Yongsun was not sure how to respond to the sheriff’s comment and decided a simple smile was probably the best reply.

“So here’s what I was hoping you could help me with,” Coburn said. “This town’s in need of a firm hand to keep the reprobates at bay. Problem is, more and more of them reprobates are—“ he thought for a moment before continuing, “Orientals, and my men and me don’t speak none of that gibberish that passes for a language.“

Yongsun tried hard to keep the disdain she suddenly felt for Coburn and his men out of her voice. “As you can see, I’m Oriental. But there are many kinds of Orientals who speak many different languages. I’m not sure I can speak the right one.”

“We won’t know until we’ve paid our reprobates a visit, will we?” Coburn said. “You don’t mind arresting your kind, do you?”

Yongsun somehow managed not to roll her eyes. “If they’ve broken the law, then of course I don’t mind. Who are they and what have they done?”

“John Wynn and Ann Higgins. Not their real names, I’m sure, but then again Kim Johnson and Billy Moon probably ain’t your real names either. Anyway, these folks are occupying land they don’t own, seeing that Oriental folks can’t own land in this country.“

Coburn said the last part as though he believed Yongsun did not know the law; but she did know the law, and the thought of taking away a piece of property from hard-working people simply because they were Asian disgusted her. Still, this was the job Yongsun had signed up for, and she, too, had worked hard for it.

“So you want me to pay them a visit and, what, talk to them?” she asked.

“I just want you to tag along,” Coburn said, “and if there are any… communication problems, you jump in.”

Yongsun sighed. “I suppose I can do that.”

Coburm clapped his hands once and nodded his approval. “Good, then that’s settled. Now, why don’t you take the rest of the day to get settled and discover Valentine’s hidden charms? I’m sure Billy Moon won’t mind showing you around, he knows this town well enough.”

Yongsun remembered that Billy had offered to do just that and to buy her dinner afterward. “That’s sounds like a plan. Thank you for the suggestion, sheriff.”

“All right, then. Be here tomorrow at dawn so we can pay this couple an early visit.”

Yongsun said she would, then wished Coburn and his deputies a pleasant afternoon before picking up her suitcase and excusing herself. She made her way to the Saints Hotel to rent a room, and while it certainly was not a luxury hotel, it also was not nearly as bad or as expensive as the sheriff had made it out to be. She changed out of her traveling clothes and put on a simple but elegant dress which she hoped Billy Moon would like, but decided against wearing a hat. Once she felt presentable, she headed for the saloon, which was within spitting distance from the sheriff’s office and hardly any further from the hotel itself.

The saloon was surprisingly busy considering it was still early in the day, but she quickly spotted Billy Moon sitting at one of the tables, quietly pondering what appeared to be a poker hand. She hesitated to make her presence known and stood rooted to the spot, sticking out like a sore thumb among the regular patrons and the scantily dressed working girls as a growing number of eyes turned to her. There were a few whistles and even a catcall or two, which got the attention of Billy Moon, who suddenly looked up from his cards and saw her standing there.

“Miss Yongsun!” he blurted out, shooting to his feet as though his chair had caught fire. “I didn’t see you there! How are you?”

“I’m about the same as I was when you left me not too long ago,” Yongsun said, “although it looks like you didn’t miss me much in the meantime.”

She had meant the words as a friendly jest but realized too late that they rather made her sound like a jealous nag.

Billy lowered his eyes, chastised and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Miss Yongsun,” he said, fiddling with his hat. “I really am. I didn’t know how long you were going to be with the sheriff, or if you were even going to show—”

Yongsun placed a hand on Billy’s arm to get him to calm down, then quickly took it away, sensing she had crossed a line. “It’s all right, Mr. Moon, I’m the one who should apologize.”

Billy’s eyebrows came closer together in a slight frown. “Apologize? Why?”

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I arrived,” Yongsun explained, “and I have been, well, not as kind to you. So how about you finish that round you were playing and we can start from the beginning? You looked like you were doing pretty well there.”

“You know poker, then?”

Yongsun shrugged. “A little. Enough to know a good hand when I see one.”

Billy’s face remained completely still, but he was looking at her as though he were studying an opponent while trying to decide whether to call, raise, or fold.

He chose to raise the stakes. “You’re not supposed to say that, you know.”

Yongsun gasped, feigning surprise, then looked at each of Billy’s poker buddies in turn as though she had just realized that she had made a mistake. “Oh… right. Sorry, gentlemen.”

“Billy, what do you think you’re doing?” a man with neatly trimmed mutton chops, a perfect right part and a white barber’s coat asked. “This ain’t a team sport! You playing or not?”

“Hold your horses, Elmer,” Billy said, sitting back down. “I’m playing.”

There was an almost imperceptible ripple, like a disappointed sigh, as those who had thought they were one opponent down realized that they had been wrong. Billy made a show of peering at his cards, then asked what the last bet had been and called it.

“You bluffin’,” a large black man said, his skin so dark, his teeth and eyes seemed to glow.

“You look a little pale, Wendell,” Billy retorted. “Like you’re about to fold or something. You feeling all right?”

Wendell White stared at his cards for a moment, then slapped them down on the table. “I still say you bluffin’, Billy Moon.”

Billy smirked. “Say away, friend, you’re still out. How ‘bout you, Elmer?”

The barber nodded. “You look mighty happy with yourself, Billy, so I’m going to raise you.”

“All right! That’s what I like to see!” Billy exclaimed. “Whaddaya say, Sampson?”

Sampson Black let out a deep breath and placed his cards face down on the table. “Nah, this is gettin’ too rich for me.”

Billy’s smirk turned into a grin. “It’s just you and me, Elmer.”

“Looks like it,” the barber said. “So what’s it going to be?”

Billy pushed all his chips towards the middle of the table. “I’m all in.”

Yongsun bit her lip and felt her heartbeat pick up, silently pleading with Lady Luck to side with Billy Moon.

* * *

  
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	4. Lady Luck

Byulyi’s heart was hammering in her chest as she pushed all of her remaining chips towards the middle of the table. It was a desperate, insane gamble, but what else was she supposed to do? Chicken out with Kim Yongsun watching? That sounded even worse than what Hank Stanton would do to her if she lost that bet.

“I’m all in,” Byulyi said, carefully watching Elmer Tindell’s reaction while flashing him one of her infuriating grins.

And there it was: that shadow of a doubt in Tindell’s eyes. He, too, was bluffing, and it would now be a matter of who had the steeliest nerves or the least terrible hand.

A moment passed, and another; then Tindell’s nerves gave.

“I’m out,” he said. “My wife’s going to have my head on a spike if I get cleaned out again.”

Byulyi waited a beat before showing her hand, her grin widening.

“I knew he was bluffin’!” Wendell White exclaimed. “Didn’t I say he was bluffin’?”

“Billy Moon, you son of a bitch!” There was a reluctant note of admiration in Sampson Black's voice. “That hand was a joke!”

“And you’re all jokers at the end of it,” Byulyi said with a chuckle as she gathered her wins.

Tindell gestured towards Yongsun. “Guess you can thank your lady friend here, ’cause she sure had us all fooled.”

Buyli gave the round-cheeked beauty one of her lopsided smiles. _“So that’s what Lady Luck looks like, huh?”_

 _“Oh, I don’t know about that…”_ Yongsun tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her dimpled smile telling Byulyi that the compliment had hit its mark this time.

 _“Are you still up for that dinner I promised?”_ Byulyi asked.

 _“It’s a little early for dinner,”_ Yongsun said with a teasing gleam in her eyes, _“but I am ravenous.”_

_“Then a late lunch? And a bottle of wine?”_

Yongsun hesitated for just a moment before answering. _“That’d be a start.”_

“Hey, Clayton!” Byulyi called out to the bartender. “Get me two plates of your finest lamb’s fry and a bottle of wine.”

“Where do you think you are?” Hanley said. “This ain’t Saint-Denis. You can have the food all right, but I ain’t got none of that French crap.”

“French crap?” Byulyi protested. “You wouldn’t know good booze if it hit you in the face like an angry mule, Hanley.”

“Ah, go to hell, Billy. You want the food or what?”

“Sure.” Byulyi turned to Yongsun and asked, _“What would you like to drink, my lady?”_

 _“First of all,”_ Yongsun replied, _“I’m not your lady, and second of all, I’ll have whatever you’ll have.”_

“Two of your best whiskey,” Byulyi said to Hanley, “and a round for my poker buddies!”

“You got it!” Hanley acknowledged.

Sampson Black raised his half-empty glass of bourbon. “You’re still a son of a bitch, but at least you ain’t a stingy one!”

“Thank you, Billy,” Elmer Tindell before downing the rest of the drink he had been nursing.

“So how’d you two meet?” Wendell White asked Byulyi, indicating Yongsun.

“I was at the train station reading a newspaper when she got off the train and got hit by the Valentine welcoming committee,” Byulyi said.

“Oh, I see,” White said with a chuckle. “That first impression is hard to forget, ain’t it, Miss… Johnson, was it?”

“It was,” Yongsun said, not minding the mistake, “although I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your name, since Mr. Moon here never saw fit to properly introduce me to his friends…”

White extended his hand. “Wendell White. Nice to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you, too,” Yongsun said as she shook his hand.

Byulyi did the rest of the introductions, then apologized to Yongsun. _“I didn’t realize we knew each other well enough for me to introduce you.”_

 _“You’re right,”_ Yongsun admitted, _“we don’t know each other well enough. I just like to give you a hard time because you’re such a good sport about it.”_

 _“Well, in that case, how about we get properly acquainted?”_ Byulyi suggested.

 _“I thought that was the plan all along,”_ Yongsun said.

 _“Right,”_ Byulyi acknowledged, then said to her poker friends, “if you gentlemen will excuse us, the lady and I would like a bit of private time.”

“Afraid she’ll like us better than you?” Sampson Black jested.

“No, I’m afraid you’ll scare her off,” Byulyi retorted.

“She don’t seem like the kind to be so easily scared,” Wendell White said.

“Then maybe I’ve just had enough of your ugly mugs for one day,” Byulyi said.

“Oh, I see how it is,” White said. “Now that you’ve found yourself a girl, you don’t like us no more!”

“I still like you guys,” Byulyi said, “I just like her more.”

The friendly banter continued for a few more rounds, then Byulyi called out to the barkeeper:

“Clayton, how’s that lamb’s fry coming along?”

“It’s comin’,” Hanley said, “but them whiskeys ain’t gonna drink themselves.”

Byulyi went to fetch the whiskey shots and handed one to Yongsun. _“To our new friendship.”_

Yongsun clinked her glass against Byulyi’s, then took a careful sip of her drink. The amber liquid left a burning trail in her mouth and down her throat, and the expression that came over Yongsun’s face at that moment caused Byulyi to burst out laughing.

 _“Not used to liquor, huh?”_ Byulyi said with a smirk. _“You’re supposed to down that in one shot. I reckon that’s why they’re called ‘shooters’.”_

 _“Is this your way of getting back at me?”_ Yongsun asked after she had coughed a few times.

 _“Could be,”_ Byulyi said.

Yongsun smiled and nodded. _“Well done, then.”_

When the food finally came, Byulyi made a better show of good manners by carrying Yongsun’s plate to an empty table and pulling out a chair for her.

 _“Well, you’re certainly good at carrying things if nothing else,”_ Yongsun said as she took a seat.

Byulyi sat down opposite her and said, _“Let’s hope I can surprise you with a few more unexpected talents.”_

_“Your bluff seems on point.”_

_“I don’t know if that’s a talent or a curse,”_ Byulyi admitted. _“There are better ways for a man to spend his time.”_

_“I can’t say that I disagree.”_

The topic of her gambling was not something Byulyi wanted to dwell on. She began to eat her food as a way to divert the conversation, then asked between mouthfuls:

_“So what brings a pretty lady such as yourself to a crummy town like Valentine?”_

_“I’m no lady, Mr. Moon,”_ Yongsun said before elegantly tasting some of the lamb’s fry.

 _And I’m no ‘mister’,_ Byulyi thought, saying instead, _“You’re lady enough for me. What’s your story?”_

_“The sheriff thought I could help him with something. But now that I’ve met you, I’ve got to wonder why he went through all this trouble and didn’t just ask you.”_

Byulyi gave her a puzzled look. _“Me? Why me?”_

 _“You're just as ‘Oriental’ as I am.”_ There was a sour note in Yongsun’s tone, one with which Byulyi was all too familiar.

_“Sure, but what does this have to do with anything?”_

_“There are these folks,”_ Yongsun explained, _“an Asian couple the sheriff thinks are illegally occupying land. He wants to pay them a visit. Wants me to come along in case there are any ‘communication problems’. His words.”_

 _“And you’re gonna go?”_ The thought of Yongsun being part of such an injustice seemed unfathomable to Byulyi.

_“Mr. Moon, I’m a US marshal and a member of the Saint-Denis police department. I was ordered to come to Valentine to assist Sheriff Coburn ‘in any and all capacity’. I don’t have a choice in the matter.”_

Yongsun’s mention of her profession had felt like a horse had just bucked her off and Byulyi was left speechless for several blinks.

 _“You’re… a police officer?”_ she finally said.

 _“I am,”_ Yongsun confirmed. _“That’s not a problem, is it?”_

 _“Oh, no, of course not. It’s just… I didn’t—”_ Byulyi was struggling to find her words. _“I never would’ve guessed.”_

Yongsun leaned forward. _“Then what would you have guessed?”_

Byulyi had never given a moment's thought to what Kim Yongsun might have been before she appeared on the Valentine train station platform. _“I’m not sure. A music-hall star?”_

Yongsun gave her an odd look. _“Are you serious?”_

 _“Sure,”_ Byulyi said, warming up to the idea. _“You’re certainly pretty enough.”_

Yongsun’s face lit up, her dimpled smile appearing again. _“Aren’t you the flatterer? What if I told you I was in the music hall for a while?”_

This time, Byulyi’s surprise came from her having made the right guess. _“You were?”_

Yongsun nodded. _“That was a long time ago, though. Didn’t work out.”_

_“Guess it’s a tough business to break into, huh?”_

_“It is.”_ Yongsun’s thoughts seemed to drift off for a moment, then snapped right back on track. _“But what about you, Mr. Moon? What do you do when you’re not playing poker?”_

 _“Odd jobs,”_ Byulyi said, deliberately vague. _“Deliveries, ranch and farm jobs, stuff like that.”_

_“You got a wife hiding somewhere?”_

_“Nope, no wife.”_ Still on slippery ground.

_“Children?”_

_“No children. Why, you want some?”_ Byulyi knew this was a risky question, yet could not help but imagine a future―any future―with this woman.

Yongsun’s eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. _“My, you really are forward, aren’t you?”_

 _“Not usually, as I said, but you seem to have that effect on me.”_

Yongsun glanced around a few times as though she feared people might have overheard them. Byulyi was tempted to remind her that the odds of anyone understanding anything they were saying were practically nil, but instead said:

_“I've offended you again, haven't I?”_

_“I wouldn’t say you’ve offended as much as caught me completely off-guard.”_

_“Well, I apologize for that, too, although I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”_

They smiled, a tentative trust settling between them. Byulyi felt something else there, an acknowledgment of their mutual attraction perhaps, but before either of them could speak again, a piano began to play somewhere in the saloon and Yongsun instantly perked up.

 _“Oh, I love this tune!”_ she exclaimed. _“Do you know it?”_

Byulyi listened to the piano for a moment, then said, _“Sure, I know it. Mr. Dougan—the piano man—plays it all the time in here. Sometimes I wonder if he knows any other tunes.”_

Yongsun gave Art Dougan a longing gaze, and Byulyi suddenly wanted to grab the piano man by the scruff of the neck and send him flying through the nearest window. She blinked the thought away, then said:

_“Why don’t you show me some of that music-hall stuff you used to do?”_

Yongsun’s eyes widened, as though Byulyi had suggested something outrageous. _“Surely, I couldn’t…”_

 _“Nonsense,”_ Byulyi said. _“People in this town are desperate for entertainment, they’ll love a free music-hall act!”_

Yongsun threw another glance at the piano man. _“Still, that doesn’t seem appropriate.”_

 _“Now you’re making excuses,”_ Byulyi insisted. _“Art—I mean Mr. Dougan—is a poker buddy of mine. I’ll talk to him.”_

Before Yongsun could protest, Byulyi got up from her chair and made a beeline for Art Dougan and his upright piano. She exchanged a few pleasantries with the piano man, then asked him if he would mind playing something for a music-hall artist.

“Music hall?” Dougan said. “Sure, Billy, I can do that.”

“See the lady sitting by herself at that table over there?” Byulyi said. “She’s the one you’ll be playing for.”

Dougan took a good look at Yongsun and nodded approvingly. “Pretty one, ain’t she?”

“You can say that again,” Byulyi said with a knowing smile.

Dougan made up his mind. “Tell the lady I’m ready when she is.”

Byulyi gave the piano man her most heartfelt thanks and hurried back to Yongsun, whose eyes gleamed with anticipation.

 _“So?”_ she asked.

 _“He’s ready when you are,”_ Byulyi said, her voice ringing with joyful pride.

Yongsun’s face lit up and the young woman sprang from her chair. _“How do I look?”_

 _“Beautiful,”_ Byulyi said without a moment’s hesitation.

Yongsun nodded, seemingly too happy to mind Byulyi’s bold compliment, then made her way towards the piano man. She introduced herself and spoke to Dougan briefly, then positioned herself and gave him a signal. Dougan started playing a lively, catchy tune and Yongsun began to sing, her voice melodious and clear even amid the clatter and chatter of the saloon. Before long, the rowdy crowd hushed down, taken over by the pretty newcomer who could sing and dance like nobody’s business. Byulyi sat there, mesmerized by the performance, and by the time the first song came to an end, the saloon was packed with passersby who had been lured in by Yongsun’s impromptu show. There were shouts and clamors for more, and Yongsun graciously obliged three more times before she went back to Byulyi’s table, profusely thanking Mr. Dougan and her delighted audience.

 _“That was fun!”_ she said to Byulyi as she sat down, beaming.

 _“Fun?”_ Byulyi said. _“It was amazing! Where’d you learn to sing and dance that way?”_

 _“My mother was a performance artist back in Korea,”_ Yongsun said. _“I learned everything I could from her, then decided to come to America. That’s how I ended up in Saint-Denis.”_

 _“What happened?”_ Byulyi asked. _“You obviously have what it takes, judging by the reaction you caused just now.”_

_“I performed in various shows in Saint-Denis, even a few across New Hanover and New Austin. I was primed and ready for the big time, but my producer and I had a bit of a disagreement and I was forced to reconsider my career choice.”_

Byulyi gave her a suspicious look. _“Must have been pretty serious if it made you quit something you’re obviously passionate about.”_

Yongsun was silent for while, visibly trying to decide whether she should say more.

 _“He proposed to me,”_ she finally said. _“And when I turned him down, he tried to force himself on me.”_

Byulyi gasped, too stunned to say anything.

 _“Heaven only knows how I managed to get away from him,”_ Yongsun continued, _“but he was an influential man and refusing him was as good as signing my own death warrant, as far as my career was concerned. So I chose the only career that would grant me more power than he had.”_

_“You became a cop.”_

Yongsun nodded. _“For months, I followed him around, made note of everywhere he went and everyone he spoke to. Questioned dozens of people, even laid traps for him. But I could never pin anything on him and was eventually ordered to give up on the case.”_

_“Did you?”_

_“Of course, I did,”_ Yongsun said. _“I was ordered to.”_

 _“So he got away,”_ Byulyi guessed.

Yongsun lowered her eyes and breathed in deeply. _“He did. But plenty of others paid for their crimes. Sometimes with their lives.”_

Byulyi placed a hand over Yongsun’s and, in spite of wanting to be comforting, could not help the thrill that came over her. _“I’m sorry, Miss Yongsun.”_

Yongsun’s eyes rose to meet Byulyi’s, but she did not take her hand away. _“What for? You did nothing wrong. There’s no need to feel sorry for me.”_

_“I’m afraid I can’t help the way I feel.”_

Yongsun’s hand quickly slipped out of Byulyi’s gentle grasp. _“Here I am, souring the mood with my needless rambling. I’m sorry, Mr. Moon, that was uncalled for.”_

 _“Actually, it was very much called for,”_ Byulyi said, her empty hand feeling both cold and burning hot. _“We wanted to get to know each other better, remember?”_

_“You’re right, we did. So I guess it’s your turn.”_

Byulyi felt a jolt of panic shoot through her. _“I’m afraid my life is nowhere near as interesting as yours.”_

 _“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”_ Yongsun said, sitting back in her chair.

How could Byulyi tell Kim Yongsun—a woman of such beauty and talent, she seemed to have stepped right out of her dreams—anything about her life without revealing what a despicable creature she was? A woman who pretended to be a man and who was hundreds of dollars in debt because she constantly gambled and spent money she did not have?

 _“There really isn’t anything to say, I’m afraid,”_ Byulyi said.

Yongsun’s face fell, then hardened. _“I see. So this getting-to-know-you-better business is a one-sided affair, then? I open up and tell you about some of the most personal moments of my life, but you don’t return the favor, is that it?”_

Byulyi lowered her eyes in shame, her courage fleeing.

 _“Well, thank you for the food and the drinks,”_ Yongsun said in an excessively polite tone, _“but I have things to attend to now. Farewell, Mr. Moon.”_

Byulyi got up from her chair at almost exactly the same time as Yongsun did. _“Wait!”_

 _“What is it?”_ Yongsun’s voice had turned icy.

 _“My father,”_ Byulyi began. _“He brought us here. My mother, my sisters and I. He was a gambling man and owed money to just about everybody that mattered. Fled the country and brought us here before anyone could cripple or kill him.”_

Yongsun’s expression softened. _“Where’s your father now?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Byulyi admitted. _“Last I heard, he owed even more money than he had back home. I left so I could find work to help cover his debt. I don’t even want to think about what happened to my sisters.”_

All traces of anger had left Yongsun’s face. _“I’m so sorry…”_

 _“There’s no need to feel sorry for me,”_ Byulyi said, forcing a smile.

Yongsun returned the smile, although hers seemed more genuine. _“I’m sorry, Mr. Moon, but I can’t help the way I feel.”_

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** In a game of Texas Hold 'Em poker, which is the variant used in the _Red Dead Redemption_ games and the one Byulyi is seen playing here, the last player not to fold at the end of all betting rounds does not typically have to show their hand to the other players. For the purpose of making things a bit more interesting from a storytelling point of view, I decided that Byulyi and her poker friends would play a homerule variant where the winner of the pot shows their hand, which is strategically unsound but allows for better character development from a writer's perspective.

If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	5. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

The sun was slowly making its way towards the horizon when they decided to head for the Dakota River. It would have been a short ride by horse, but they had chosen to go on foot instead for the simple reason that it would give them more time to talk and enjoy each other's company. That, at least, was what Byulyi told herself as she stole yet another glance at Kim Yongsun, who was shielding her eyes and appeared more than a little inconvenienced.

Byulyi took off her hat and placed it on Yongsun’s head. _“There, that should help a bit.”_

Yongsun seemed surprised, then a little ill at ease. _“What about you?”_

 _“Don’t worry about me,”_ Byulyi said.

Yongsun took off the hat, then placed it back on her head at a different angle. She gave Byulyi a coquettish look and asked, _“How does it suit me?”_

Byulyi smiled. _“Better than it does me.”_

 _“Oh, stop lying!”_ Yongsun protested, gently swatting Byulyi’s arm.

 _“I’m not lying!”_ Byulyi assured her. _“It looks surprisingly good on you.”_

 _“I probably look ridiculous,”_ Yongsun said with a roll of her eyes. _“But thank you. For the hat and for your kind words.”_

 _“They’re not just words, you know. I mean it. You’re—”_ She had to swallow, her nerves getting in the way. _“You’re very pretty.”_

_“And you’re half-blinded by the sun.”_

_“I may be blinded,”_ Byulyi conceded, _“but it’s not because of the sun. At least not the one in the sky.”_

Yongsun threw a glance her way and shook her head, unable to completely hide her amusement.

 _“That was terrible,”_ she said.

 _“Sure, it was,”_ Byulyi agreed, _“but it made you smile, and that’s all that matters to me.”_

They walked in silence for a while, until the river came into view. They reached the shore a moment later, where Byulyi found a shady spot under a tree near the water. They sat in the tall grass and took in the view, until an idea came to Byulyi.

 _“Come with me,”_ she told Yongsun.

_“Where are we going?”_

_“By the water, right over there.”_

Byulyi looked around and picked up a few stones, inspecting them and pocketing the ones she deemed suitable while the rest were thrown back onto the ground. Once her pockets were bulging from the bulk and weight of her collection, she went back to Yongsun, who had observed the whole scene with a look of growing curiosity on her face.

 _“Ever skipped stones?”_ Byulyi asked.

_“Can’t say that I have, no.”_

Byulyi took a stone out of her pocket and flung it at the water, where it bounced four times off the surface before finally sinking.

_“Your talents are truly peculiar, Mr. Moon.”_

_“You’ll get no argument from me,”_ Byulyi said. _“Here, you try it.”_

Yongsun took the stone she was handed and held it clumsily for a moment before she made up her mind and threw it at the river. It hit the water with a plopping sound and disappeared without having skipped once.

 _“Well, that was a perfect demonstration of how it’s not done,”_ Yongsun said with a chuckle.

 _“You’re holding it wrong,”_ Byulyi told her, seizing the opportunity she had hoped for. “Let me show you.”

Byulyi took a new stone out of her pocket and placed it in Yongsun’s hand.

 _“Now you have to throw it like this,”_ Byulyi explained while hurling an invisible stone at the river.

Yongsun tried again with an air of determination, but the stone sank into the water once more.

 _“What an awful student I’m proving to be!”_ Yongsun exclaimed.

 _“Not at all,”_ Byulyi assured her. _“It was already better than the first time. Let me show you again.”_

Byulyi handed Yongsun another stone, but this time positioned herself directly behind the other woman.

 _“May I… approach you?_ ” Byulyi ventured.

Yongsun seemed to hesitate, but finally assented. Byulyi came closer, her chest nearly touching Yongsun’s back, and took Yongsun’s hand in hers. She placed her other hand on Yongsun’s hip and felt her whole body stiffen.

 _“Would you like me to move away?”_ Byulyi asked, her own heartbeat picking up.

 _“N–no,”_ Yongsun answered quickly. _“It's all right.”_

Byulyi took a deep breath to steady her galloping heart, then said:

_“Don’t just use your arm when you throw the stone. Put your whole body into it. Like this.”_

She demonstrated the movement slowly, guiding Yongsun with her hand and arms, her chest, her hips and even her legs.

 _“Try to relax,”_ Byulyi said into Yongsun’s ear, her voice soft and low but struggling to remain steady from her close proximity to the other woman. _“I won’t hurt you, I promise.”_

Yongsun breathed in and out, deeply, her body loosening up. Byulyi demonstrated the throw several more times, until she felt that Yongsun had gotten the hang of it.

 _“That’s good,”_ Byulyi said. _“Now, go ahead and try it on you own.”_

Yongsun gave her an uncertain look, then found her resolve and sent the stone flying. It hit the surface and skipped once before it sank into the water.

Yongsun hooted and clapped excitedly. _“I did it, didn’t I? It skipped!”_

 _“It sure did,”_ Byulyi said with a huge grin on her face.

_“Should I try it again?”_

_“Practice makes perfect.”_

Yongsun proceeded to skip all of Byulyi’s remaining stones with various degrees of success, forcing Byulyi to go searching for more. She gathered several and placed them into a small pile near Yongsun, then went to sit in the shady spot under the tree.

 _“Aren’t you going to keep me company?”_ Yongsun asked.

_“I like the view from here.”_

Yongsun came over to sit next to her. _“In that case, I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”_

 _“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”_ Byulyi’s objection sounded hollow to her own ears, as she wanted nothing more than to be close to the woman who was quickly becoming the center of her world. _“Don’t stop on account of me.”_

 _“I was enjoying myself,”_ Yongsun admitted, _“until I saw just how content you looked and figured I’d enjoy myself even more over here.”_

Byulyi could only smile at the way Yongsun’s voice fell and rose as she spoke, at the way her lips moved, and at the manner in which her fingers brushed away the strands of hair that the breeze gently blew into her face. She felt an almost irresistible urge to lean over and kiss Yongsun, but something stopped her in the nick of time and she lay down on her back to gaze at the sky instead, hoping it would distract her from the thoughts that were now swarming her mind.

_“Mr. Moon, are you all right?”_

_“Don’t you worry about me, Miss Yongsun, I’m fine. More than fine, in fact, I’m—”_ Byulyi looked at her and smiled before adding, _“happy.”_

Yongsun seemed to ponder Byulyi’s words for a moment, then lay down on her back knocking Byulyi’s hat off her head in the process. She took the hat and handed it to Byulyi, who placed it on her chest, right over her heart. The two of them stared at the sky in silence for a long while, with Yongsun sighing softly every so often and Byulyi trying her best not to let her little finger graze Yongsun’s. She was so close, it would only take the slightest of movements… She tried to focus on the shape of the clouds, but they all reminded her of Kim Yongsun in some way.

Yongsun broke the silence first. _“Mr. Moon, may I ask you a personal question?”_

Byulyi dreaded where that question might lead, but said, _“Sure, go ahead.”_

_“Where’s home for you?”_

Byulyi decided to play dumb. _“Why, right here, in Valentine.”_

 _“I don’t mean where you live,”_ Yongsun said. _“When you told me about your father, you referred to the place you’d left as ‘home’. Where is that?”_

Byulyi turned her head to look at Yongsun. _“Is that important?”_

 _“Important? Not really,”_ Yongsun conceded, her eyes peering right into Byulyi’s soul. _“But it would mean a lot if you told me.”_

Byulyi debated with herself for a long moment before she finally spoke. _“I was born in Busan, on December 22nd, 1877. That’s where my home was and where it will always be.”_

_“And what were you called before you came to America?”_

Byulyi sat up slowly, clasped her hands in her lap and hung her head, not wanting to lie but unable to tell the truth. _“Miss Yongsun, the last time I heard my real name was the last time I saw my mother. It broke her heart when I left, so I’d be grateful if you just called me ‘Billy’.”_

Yongsun sat up as well. _“Of course, Mr. Moon… Billy. I’m sorry I asked.”_

After a moment, she spoke again. _“I was born in Seoul, on February 21st, 1876.”_

 _“Thank you, big sister.”_ Byulyi said.

_“Please call me Yongsun.”_

Night had fallen by the time they got back to Valentine. A light was still on in the Saints Hotel lobby and there was still plenty of noise coming from the saloon, but the town was otherwise quiet, with the occasional night bird call echoing in the distance.

Byulyi led Yongsun to the stairs leading up to the hotel, intent on bidding her farewell yet finding herself unable to do so. After fiddling with the brim of her hat and chuckling at the awkwardness of the moment, she could no longer hold off the inevitable and finally brought herself to say:

_“Guess this is where we part ways.”_

_“I guess you’re right.”_ Yongsun seemed just as loathe for the day to end as Byulyi felt. _“Thank you for spending so much of your time with me today. You’ve been very pleasant company and I’ve had a wonderful time.”_

_“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Yongsun. I hope we can do this again.”_

Byulyi thought she saw a glint in Yongsun’s eyes. _“That’d be nice.”_

The two of them stood facing each other, not willing to be the first to walk away, then Yongsun added:

_“I should probably go. I’ve got to meet with the sheriff at dawn.”_

_“Oh, right,”_ Byulyi said as though she had forgotten. _“That thing with the illegal occupants?”_

Yongsun laughed softly. _“That’s the one, yes.”_

 _“Say, when you’re done with that,”_ Byulyi ventured, _“maybe I could show you around some more? You wouldn’t guess it by the look and smell of this town, but there are some really beautiful places in the area.”_

Yongsun bit her lip as though she had been offered seconds of a particularly sinful dish. _“That would be lovely.”_

 _“All right, then.”_ Byulyi could not keep herself from grinning. _“I’ll see you tomorrow sometime?”_

Yongsun nodded. _“Meet you at the saloon?”_

_“That’s a pretty safe bet.”_

_“I don’t bet,”_ Yongsun said, _“but you be safe, Mr. Moon.”_

_“And you stay out of trouble, Miss Yongsun.”_

They wished each other good night and Byulyi watched as Yongsun climbed the stairs leading up to the front door, lingered on the porch for a moment, turned around to wave Byulyi goodbye, then disappeared inside the hotel. Byulyi sighed, her heart both light and heavy at the same time. She stared at the hotel door for a moment longer, hoping to see Yongsun reappear, but when it became clear that the door would remain closed, she turned around and headed home, thinking of Kim Yongsun’s bubbly laughter, sparkling eyes, and inviting lips.

She had almost reached her house and was looking forward to a good night’s sleep when she heard a voice—little more than a harsh whisper—call out to her in the dark.

“Billy! Hey, Billy Moon! Over here!”

Perhaps it was the dream-like state she was in that made her drop her guard and walk up to the place where she thought the voice had come from instead of asking whoever had spoken to show themselves first; but the next thing she knew was that someone had grabbed her from behind and was holding her in a choke hold while another person—or other people—rained kicks and punches down on her. Once they had softened her up enough, they dragged her to the farrier’s workshop and forcefully sat her down on a low, wobbly stool. A moment later, a figure appeared and approached Byulyi, but it was too dark for her to make out any distinctive features.

She was about to ask who was there when a pair of hands grabbed the lapels of her coat and yanked her to her feet.

“Hello, Billy. Did you miss me?”

That chilling, tightrope voice. The breath that always reeked of brandy and onions.

“Hey, Hank,” Byulyi said with a bravado she hoped was as convincing as her bluff had been earlier. “Nice of you to call.”

“Save it, you little prick,” Hank Stanton said. “I’m in no mood for your foreplay. You owe me a lot of money, Billy. Five hundred dollars, to be precise. And you owe me that money ‘cause you’re a lousy, degenerate gambler. But even when you somehow manage to win at poker, I hear you go around spending that money on little harlots from Saint-Denis who think they can come to my town and walk around like they own the place. Is that what you’ve been doing, Billy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Byulyi said, suddenly remembering One-Arm Mickey, who claimed he had lost his arm in the war but had really lost it to Hank Stanton.

“Oh, you don’t, do you? Well, let me jog your memory, then: Sheriff Coburn—you remember Sheriff Coburn, right?—He ‘requested assistance’—that’s how he put it—from the chief of police in Saint-Denis. And you know what that cow turd did? You don’t? Then let me tell you: he sent our good sheriff a woman. Can you imagine that? And you know what? That woman is the same trollop you’ve been seen with all day. The odds of that happening, eh? Did you know she was a cop, Billy?”

Byulyi’s heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. “Yeah.”

“Did you now? The two of you sure got to know each other real fast, didn’t you? Say, did you take her? From behind, like a bitch in heat?”

Byulyi said nothing and swallowed hard to keep herself from spitting in Stanton’s face. How dare he talk about Yongsun in this way?

“You did, didn’t you? You dirty dog, you!” Stanton let out a nasty chuckle. “Tell me, how much did you pay her? See, I’d like to know that, ‘cause I could use the services of a woman like her. Or is she below even the cheapest whore and gave it to you for free?”

Byulyi knew that Stanton was trying to get a rise out of her, to push her into doing something she would regret for the rest of her life. So she did the only thing she could: she kept her mouth shut, letting her mounting fear and growing fury simmer in silence.

When he realized that she was not taking the bait, Stanton instructed his lackeys to get her down on her knees by the farrier’s workbench and to hold both of her hands flat on top of it. Images of Stanton smashing her hands to a pulp with a hammer or cutting off her fingers one by one flooded Byulyi’s mind and she began to struggle, but Stanton’s men put a swift end to that with a few choice punches and kicks.

“What’s wrong, Billy? Cat got your tongue? You gotta talk to me, friend, tell me how you’re gonna pay me back, you know? You got my five big ones?”

“N—no, Hank, I—I don’t…” The workbench was rough and scaly against the palm of her hands—like an alligator’s skin—and she desperately wanted to snatch her hands away, but Stanton’s men had a vise hold on her wrists.

“Ah, you’re breakin’ my heart, man!” Stanton exclaimed, clutching at his chest theatrically.

He leaned close to Byulyi and spoke, clenched-jawed, into her ear:

“Now, I don’t like havin’ my heart broke, so I gotta know how you gonna make it up to me. You got any idea? Oh, I know!” He swiped a hammer off the smithy's workbench and dragged Byulyi to the anvil, placing one of her hands on its face and holding the hammer up as though he were preparing to smash it down. “I’ll take your fingers! Five hundred dollars, five fingers. That sound like a fair deal to you? No? How ’bout your balls?” He threw the hammer down and grabbed a pair of tongs. “Should I take your balls instead? Not that they’d be worth much, seeing as you’re only half a man who can’t even grow whiskers on his face, but I’d wager they’re precious to you. Whaddaya say, Billy? Are your balls worth five hundred dollars?”

Byulyi could feel cold sweat trickling down her back. If Hank Stanton found out her secret, she was as good as dead.

“I’ll pay you back,” she promised, “I swear I’ll figure something out!”

“Your word ain’t worth much ‘round these parts, Billy. But here’s the good news: I’ve already figured it out for you. All you gotta do is exactly what I tell you and before you know it, your debt will be a distant memory.”

“Wh—What’ve I got to do?” Byulyi’s throat felt like she had swallowed a handful of sand.

Stanton ordered his men off of Byulyi, then pulled her back to her feet and made a show of tidying her up.

“Ever been to the bank?” he asked, dusting off the lapels of her coat. “It’s nothing much to look at, but this here’s a cattle town and they’ve got more money in there than you’ll ever be worth. So I’ll give you one chance to get your hands on all that money, and because I’m such a swell guy, I’ll let you keep whatever is left after you’ve paid what you owe me, plus a small finder’s fee.”

“You—want me to—rob the bank?” There was a loathsome tremor in Byulyi’s voice.

“That’s right. And in case you need extra motivation, I hear that little marshal girl of yours is a very pretty lady. It’d be real a shame if anything happened to her.”

Byulyi stopped breathing for a few seconds. This couldn’t be happening. Yongsun couldn’t get mixed up in a mess of Byulyi’s making.

“Do I have your attention now?” Stanton asked.

Byulyi nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“You and a couple of your pals—I really don’t care who—are gonna head over to the bank and get the manager to let you in. He comes in through the back door every day at the crack of dawn, so you make sure you’re up bright and early tomorrow morning. Then you and your pals are gonna wait for the manager to show up for work and you’re gonna convince him to let you go inside the bank with him, real peaceful like. There’ll be a couple of guards, sure, but the three of you should have no problem handling them. One of you—and I suggest that be you, Billy—deals with the manager while the other two take care of the guards. You get the manager to open the vault and the safes, then you take all the money you can and leave before word gets to the sheriff. Understood?”

Byulyi felt like she was about to pass out. “I… understand.”

“Good. Now let me be real clear here: if I have my money by sundown tomorrow, nothing’s gonna happen to you and your girlfriend. If I don’t, well, I wouldn’t wanna be either of you.”

“I’ll do whatever you say,” Byulyi promised, her voice cracking and rising in pitch like that of a young boy. “Just keep Miss Yongsun out of it, this thing’s between you and me!”

“And if you want to keep it that way, you’ll get me my money. I get paid, you and—Miss Yongsun, was it? Right. I get paid, you two lovebirds get to live happily ever after with all your bits and pieces where they’re supposed to be. It’s not complicated.”

Stanton told his men that they were done here and the three of them left without another word being exchanged. Up in the night sky, the moon hid behind an ash-colored cloud and an owl hooted once, the echo of its call gloomy in the oppressive darkness. Byulyi stood in the middle of the workshop, her stomach threatening to send its content hurling out of her mouth. She took a few, stumbling steps, found the wobbly stool, and half-sat, half-collapsed onto it. Her breath, rapid and shaky, soon turned to heaving sobs, and Byulyi buried her face into her hands, clasping them over her mouth to muffle the sound of her despair, knowing she had come so close to touching the sun, yet had burned off her wings instead.

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE:** If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	6. At the Break of Dawn

The door to the Saints Hotel creaked loudly as Yongsun entered the lobby and was greeted at once by the groaning of the floorboards and the yodeling yawn of the owner.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am!” a flustered Vernon MacAllister blurted out. “I didn’t realize I had a guest…”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” Yongsun said, feeling as though she were the one who had been caught at an embarrassing moment. “Who barges in on people like this, so late at night?”

“Well, this is a hotel,” MacAllister explained. “Guests come and go as they please. Although I’ll admit the ones who do come in at this time of the night aren’t usually as pretty and respectable-looking as you are. If I’m remember well, you’ve already rented a room?”

“I do,” Yongsun confirmed, ignoring the compliment and getting straight to the point. “I’m going to be staying in Valentine for a little while, and I was hoping you and I could agree on reasonable terms for me to occupy the room during that time.”

Not even the dim light of the lobby nor the tiny spectacles perched atop the bridge of his nose could hide the gleam of interest that shone in MacAllister’s eyes at the prospect of a lucrative deal. “A dollar a night is already what I would call a reasonable price.”

It took a bit of haggling, but Yongsun was eventually able to convince MacAllister to slash his price by half after assuring him that she would be using the hotel’s bath regularly.  
“Speaking of which,” Yongsun said as she placed a quarter on the counter, “would it be an awful bother to get a bath ready just now?”

MacAllister looked at the coin in front of him but made no move to pick it up. “I don’t know if any of my girls are available…”

Yongsun placed another quarter next to the first one. “How about now?”

The money disappeared into MacAllister’s hand as if by magic. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Yongsun decided that this was as good a moment as any to get settled in and headed to her room, which was right across the hallway from the bath room. It was an adequate room—if one could ignore the faded, peeling wallpaper and the rotting wood panels—furnished as it was with a fireplace, a double bed and two dressers, one of which even had an intact mirror.

Seeing as she had nothing better to do, Yongsun began unpacking, carefully folding each piece of clothing before putting it away. She was nearly done when there was a knock at the door. A girl—not one of the hotel’s high-end prostitutes but one of those working from the saloon, by the look of her—had come to tell her that her bath was ready and, in a tone of supreme disinterest, asked whether Yongsun needed help getting out of her clothes.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Yongsun replied, forcing a smile to hide her contempt and wondering if Billy Moon had ever been with a woman such as this one, a pang of jealousy stabbing at her heart.

The working girl left without another word, but the thought of Billy Moon remained and followed Yongsun into the bath room, staying with her as she undressed and entered the steaming, lavender-scented water. It lingered, like a whisper or a kiss, as she lay back and tried to relax; and when the occupants of the room right above broke into a crescendo of thumping, grunting and moaning noises, Yongsun found herself conjuring images of Billy Moon that would have made her blush had she not already been flushed from the heat of the water, her own hand touching her body in places where Billy's hands had been, and in others where they had not.

Billy never left her mind when Yongsun got into bed and drifted off to sleep, appearing in her dreams throughout the night and standing first in line when she woke up the next morning. He was still with her as she got dressed, went downstairs and made her way to the sheriff's office while throwing glances left and right in the foolish hope of catching sight of this man she barely knew. Only when she saw Sheriff Coburn and his deputies did her thoughts finally relent and turn to the task at hand.

“Johnson!” Coburn exclaimed, startling a snoozing Elias Green awake. “There you are!”

“Bright and early,” Yongsun confirmed, puzzled by the sheriff’s enthusiasm.

“And not a minute too soon!” Coburn agreed, grabbing his coat and hat. “Time to go, gentlemen!”

The sheriff urged his deputies to get moving, but before the four of them could head out the door, a boy of about fifteen years of age wearing an oversized checkered jacket and black trousers that were too short in the legs walked in and almost bumped into Coburn, who immediately scolded him:

“Hey, watch it, there!”

The boy’s shock of blond hair gave his wide-eyed expression something of a wild air.

“Mr. Sheriff, sir!” he blurted out with a quiver in his voice. “I think someone’s robbing the bank!”

“What the blazes are you talkin’ about, boy?” Coburn’s tone was both incredulous and annoyed.

“I was in my usual spot selling my papers,” the boy explained, “when I saw three men with masks and guns get inside the bank with the manager.”

“Men with masks and guns?” Coburn repeated, his voice heavy with skepticism. “You sure?”

“Sure as I have a nose in the middle of my face,” the boy said.

Coburn swore, then spoke to Yongsun and his deputies:

“Looks like Castor’s Ridge is gonna have to wait until after we’ve sorted out whatever’s happening at the bank. Grab a shotgun or a rifle and get ready for a fight!”

Yongsun was handed a double-barreled shotgun with a fistful of slugs, which she quickly pocketed the way Billy Moon had the skipping stones the day before. Was she actually on her way to a bank robbery?

“Green,” Coburn told the stockiest of his deputies, “you take the front door with me. Johnson, you head over to the back. Skinner, you stick to the street in case one of them manages to get out and makes a run for it. And you shoot 'em dead if you see 'em, you hear?”

“Yes, sheriff,” Skinner acknowledged. “Shoot first, ask questions later. Got it.”

“Attaboy,” Coburn said. “Johnson, you ready?”

“I’m ready, sir.”

“Then let’s go.”

Zack Wilburn had just left the sheriff’s office and was making his way to his preferred selling point—right by the gunsmith’s shop across the street from Keanes’s old saloon—when he heard someone call out to him.

“Where you going in such a hurry, boy?” Hank Stanton asked as he caught up with him. “You talk to the sheriff?”

“I did, Mr. Stanton, sir,” Zack said.

“You didn’t mention me?” There was a note of warning in Stanton’s voice.

“No, sir, I didn’t,” Zack assured him.

“Good. Was the lady sheriff there?”

Zack nodded. “Her, and the two deputies, Green and Skinner.”

“Good, good. Did you mention anything about Billy Moon?”

Zack swallowed, suddenly afraid he had made a mistake. “I… didn’t know you wanted me to—”

Stanton cut him off. “Don’t worry about it, they’ll find out soon enough. It’ll be a surprise.”

He gave the boy a wolfish grin and slapped him on the shoulder in what Zack could only suppose was a reassuring gesture.

“Here,” Stanton said, handing him a five-dollar bill. “Not bad for a few minutes’ work, huh?”

“Th—thank you, Mr. Stanton.”

Stanton leaned forward until his eyes were level with Zack’s and the boy could count the whiskers on his face.

“Now remember,” Stanton said, “not a word of this to anyone. Not even to your momma. Are we clear?”

Something in Stanton’s eyes and voice made Zack’s mouth go dry, and he could not have spoken even if he had wanted to. He nodded, but did not make a sound.

“Attaboy!” Stanton took a newspaper and gave the boy’s chest a swat. “Now, you go on and sell those. Don’t wanna disappoint the boss.”

Zack Wilburn definitely did not want that.

It occurred to Byulyi that Hank Stanton might have wanted her dead when she entered the bank through the back door holding its terrified manager at the business end of her revolver. If she somehow managed not to get shot to death or blow herself up with the dynamite Stanton had procured for the job, she would be wanted all across the state and on the run until she was either caught or killed.

Pushing those nagging thoughts away, Byulyi got the manager to unlock the security gate then signaled for Sampson Black and Wendell White to take care of the two guards who were in the lobby, which her poker-buddies-turned-bank-robbers did with remarkable efficiency, coordinating their movements and disarming the startled security before either could utter a word.

Once she was sure that her accomplices had the situation under control, Byulyi dragged the manager to the vault and ordered him to unlock the door. He immediately complied and began to turn the dial, but his hands shook so badly that he kept getting the combination wrong and had to start over again.

“What’s taking so long?” Byulyi heard Black call from the lobby.

“Hold your horses,” Byulyi shouted back, “we’re doing the best we can here!”

“We don’t have all day!” White reminded her. “Sheriff’s right across the street!”

Mention of the sheriff brought Yongsun to mind, and Byulyi had to squeeze her eyes shut to chase that image away. White was right, and she had to get into this vault now.

“Listen to me,” she told the manager as calmly as she her racing heart allowed. “I really don’t want to hurt you, I just want the money that’s in there. You’ve done this a thousand times, so focus and get this door open double quick.”

The cowering manager nodded frantically, but he still could not get his trembling hands under control.

“You can do this,” Byulyi assured him, wanting to smack him on the head with the butt of her six-shooter. “Open this door, and I promise you’ll live.”

This seemed to have the desired effect. The manager let out a deep ragged breath and began turning the dial again, this time with much more precision. A moment later, Byulyi heard the lock disengage and was relieved to see the manager open the door.

“We’re in!” she informed her partners in crime, then instructed the manager to hide under his desk and not come out until he had counted to ten thousand.

She entered the vault and, spotting the row of wall safes on the right side of the room, wasted no time affixing a stick of dynamite to the door of each safe. She was about to light the fuses when she heard a voice right behind her:

“Hold it right there, mister, and put your hands up.”

Those were the last words she had wanted to hear that voice speak to her.

“Now turn around slowly,” Yongsun told the man she had just caught red-handed in the bank vault.

He complied without a word of protest, and Yongsun kept her shotgun trained on him, ready to pull the trigger at the first sign of trouble. His masked face came into view, then his eyes, and that moment of recognition was like a knife to her gut.

“Billy?”

 _“Miss Yongsun,”_ she heard Billy Moon’s voice reply. _“Fancy seeing you here.”_

 _“Fancy isn’t quite how I’d put it,”_ Yongsun said. _“What in the world do you think you’re doing?”_

 _“Elder sister, please stay out of this,”_ Billy implored, using the most formal honorifics. _“You’ve no idea what’s going on.”_

The knife went in deeper, cutting into Yongsun’s pride. _“I think I know a bank robbery when I see one.”_

Billy shook his head. _“You don’t understand… I need the money that’s in those safes.”_

 _“And what do you need that money for, pay off a gambling debt?”_ The blade in Yongsun’s gut had left a pool of bubbling anger in its wake. _“Is that what this is all about? Because I could’ve helped you, if you’d trusted me enough to ask! Instead, you gave me that tale about your father and your mother—”_

 _“That wasn’t a tale!”_ Billy objected. _“And if you really want to help me, you’ll let me finish what I’ve come here to do and not interfere!”_

 _“Then what?”_ Yongsun demanded, her finger itching to pull the trigger. _“Even if I let you leave here with the money—which I won’t—you’ll run right into the sheriff and his deputies! They’ll shoot you on sight!”_

 _“I’m dead anyway if I don’t get that money.”_ Billy's eyes darkened. _“And so are you.”_

Yongsun let that new bit of information sink in. _“That’s a chance I’m going to have to take.”_

“What the blazes are you doing?” a familiar voice yelled from the lobby. “Are you gonna blow those safes or what?”

“Keep your hair on, man!” Billy shouted back. “Never done this before, don’t fancy getting blown up myself!”

 _“How many people have you got with you?”_ Yongsun asked.

_“Two.”_

_“You sure about that?”_

_“I swear there’s just three of us.”_

Yongsun let out a derisive huff. _“Swear? You? That’s a good one. Both of them in the lobby?”_

Billy nodded.

 _“Then that’s where you and I are going,”_ Yongsun decided. _“You first and no funny business, or there won’t be anything left of your head if that shotgun goes off.”_

She followed Billy from a safe distance, part of her hoping he would bolt and disappear through the back door she had left open when she had come in. What kind of devil was this man, who might have seduced her if he had been so inclined, yet had chosen to rob a bank instead? Was this nothing more than another game to him, and she had been just a chip in the pot?

As they walked through the security gate, Yongsun immediately recognized the two men holding the guards hostage.

“Billy, what the hell?” Sampson Black exclaimed, his voice muffled by the mask that covered most of his face. “You said there’d be no law!”

“That’s what I was told,” Billy said.

Wendell White shook his head. “Whoever gave you that tip apparently didn’t like you much.”

“No, they didn’t,” Billy agreed.

“Mr. White, I presume?” Yongsun guessed.

“Miss Johnson? How’d you know it was me?”

“You and I have this in common, Mr. White, that there aren’t many people like us in this town.”

“True,” White conceded.

“Is that you, Mr. Black?” Yongsun asked.

“Didn’t know you’d be joining our party, Miss Johnson. Sheriff with you?”

“He’s not far,” Yongsun informed him, “so you and Mr. White here drop your weapons before anybody gets hurt.”

Both men did as they were told, then raised their hands in surrender.

Yongsun instructed the guards to pick up the discarded weapons and let the sheriff know that the situation was under control, which they promptly did, throwing Billy and his companions murderous looks.

Coburn appeared a moment later with Elias Green right on his heels. A few quick glances were enough for the sheriff to assess the scene.

“Looks like we got here in the nick of time.” Coburn went around and pulled the masks off of the suspects’ faces. “Wendell White. Sampson Black. And Billy Moon. You boys shoulda stuck to poker.”

The sheriff sounded genuinely saddened at finding out who the bank robbers were and Yongsun felt her own cold fury subside, her resolve faltering. She wanted to believe that Billy Moon was a good man who had been dealt a bad hand, that the man she thought she had seen the day before had not just been an illusion. Perhaps he had borrowed money to pay off his father’s debts and someone was now blackmailing him into giving them more than he owed? Had they threatened to hurt her to get Billy to do their bidding?

Coburn, Green and Skinner led their captives out of the bank while the guards returned to their posts. Yongsun found the bank manager and told him that he was safe now, but that he should stay away from the vault until someone came to retrieve the explosives. She then returned to the sheriff’s office, walking in just as Mr. Black and Mr. White were being put into a cell. Billy had already been locked up and was sitting on his bunk bed, his head between his hands and his fingers digging into his own scalp. Yongsun walked up to his cell and called his name to get his attention, then signaled for him to come closer.

 _“As you already know,”_ she began, _“I have other business to attend to. But I want answers, and I want the truth. When I come back, you better be ready to give them to me, or I’ll make sure you hang.”_

_“Miss Yongsun—”_

She did not wait for Billy to say anything else, turning her back to him and following Coburn, Green and Skinner out the door, her heart breaking with every step.

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE:** If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	7. Trouble Comes Knocking

_“Were we expecting company?”_

Wheein came closer to have a look at what Hyejin had seen through the window. Four mounted figures approaching, none of whom looked familiar.

 _“Two’s company,”_ Wheein said, reaching for her bow. _“Three’s a crowd. And four’s definitely trouble.”_

_“They look like the law.”_

Wheein grabbed her quiver, quickly counting her arrows before slinging it across her back.

 _“Law or no law,”_ she said, _“they better not start anything unless they want iron and gunpowder for breakfast. This is our home and we’ve done nothing wrong.”_

Hyejin picked up her Winchester rifle and checked that it was loaded. _“Let’s see what they want before we assume the worst.”_

 _“Of course,”_ Wheein agreed, _“but it doesn’t hurt to be ready.”_

The two of them headed outside with Suwon on their heels.

“Morning,” Wheein greeted their uninvited guests once they had come close enough.

“Morning, son,” the oldest of the group replied in an amiable enough tone. “Now, there’s no need for guns and such, is there?”

“Maybe not,” Hyejin conceded, “but we’ve had trouble with strangers before and we weren’t expecting anyone.”

“Especially this early in the morning,” Wheein added.

“My name is Uriah Coburn, and I’m the sheriff of Valentine.” He pointed at the star pinned to his chest, then at his two male companions.“These are my deputies, Elias Green and Otis Skinner, and this young lady over there,” he indicated a gorgeous Asian woman on an equally beautiful red chestnut Arabian mare, “is US marshal Kim Johnson. Are you John Wynn and Ann Higgins?”

The man who had called himself Uriah Coburn was thin and wiry, had an angular face and looked at them with washed-out blue eyes that shone with an equal measure of intelligence and something darker, almost menacing. Elias Green, by contrast, was a big, blocky man who could probably give a bull a run for its money in a brute strength contest, but might fall short if he had to actually outwit the bull. Otis Skinner, meanwhile, had a mean gleam in his eyes that suggested his mind was sharper than his lumbering gait would have led one to believe, and that he was the kind of man who shot first and asked questions later. One thing was certain: here were three men who were dangerous in their own deadly way.

And then there was Kim Johnson, if that was even her real name. She may or may not have been older than Hyejin and Wheein, and may or may not have been Korean. What was obvious to Wheein was that she was a rare beauty and seemed out of place among these small-town lawmen.

 _“Kim Johnson, huh?”_ she said in Korean. _“Why do I get the feeling that’s not your real name?”_

The marshal smiled. _“Probably for the same reason I get the feeling John Wynn and Ann Higgins are not your real names either. But since I have nothing to hide, I might as well properly introduce myself: my name is Kim Yongsun. And you are?”_

_“Pleased to meet you, big sister.”_

Wheein had addressed Yongsun with the honorific _noona_ , which was only used by men to show respect to slightly older women.

 _“I think you meant to say unnie, didn’t you?”_ Yongsun corrected, still smiling.

Wheein’s fist tightened around the grip of her bow, the words stuck in her throat. This Kim Yongsun was a cut above the rest. No wonder she had reached such a high rank in law enforcement, even as an Asian woman.

 _“You can speak freely,”_ Yongsun assured her. _“They can’t understand a word we say, but I can understand why you would want people to believe you’re a man. Your secret is safe with me.”_

 _“No offense, marshal,”_ Wheein retorted, _“but am I supposed to trust you blindly? Why? Because you’re Korean or because of that silver star on your chest?”_

Yongsun nodded, the smile fading from her face. _“You’re right, little sister, you shouldn’t trust strangers. So would you like to tell the sheriff here that you two are the people he thinks you are, or should I do it?”_

Wheein bowed just enough to show respect without seeming servile. “ _I’ll speak to the sheriff myself.”_

Yongsun inclined her head slightly. _“Go right ahead, then.”_

“I’m John Wynn,” Wheein said to Coburn, “and this is my wife, Ann.”

Coburn nodded approvingly. “A lovely-looking lady, for sure.”

Wheein felt a sting of possessiveness at the lawman’s words. “Sheriff, what exactly are you and your... people doing on my land?”

“Ah, yes, your land,” Coburn said, then turned to his acolytes. “I guess Mr. Wynn here ain’t too familiar with the laws that govern this land of ours.”

Wheein could now feel tendrils of dread crawling up her spine. “I have the deed to this property, signed by me and by the former owner.”

Coburn nodded again, more slowly this time, a look of regret on his face. “Old Man Haggerty, yes, God rest his soul. A good man, for sure, and a hard worker. But never one to have known much ‘bout the law.”

“And what law is that?” Hyejin asked pointedly, her rifle in plain view.

A cruel smile spread across Coburn’s face. “The one that says Chinese folk can’t own land in this country.”

There it was, Wheein thought, the reason these people had shown up here. “Good thing we’re not Chinese, then.”

“You look Chinese enough,” Coburn retorted.

“Well, we’re not.” There was a hint of insolence in Wheein’s voice. “I’m sure Marshal Johnson can confirm.”

“They’re not Chinese,” Yongsun told Coburn. “They’re Korean, just like me.”

Corburn made a dismissive sound. “Chinese, Korean, who cares? Oriental folks can’t own land, you know that, Johnson!”

Wheein refused to back down. “There’s eight hundred dollars of my money that says otherwise. Money that my wife and I earned by the sweat of our brow hunting game and looking after this property.”

“Eight hundred dollars that were ill spent then,” Coburn said. “Either way, the law’s the law, and it says you folks got no right to claim this land as your own. It belongs to the government of the United States.”

Wheein’s body stiffened in indignation. “Like hell it does!”

“In that case,” Hyejin said while laying a comforting hand on Wheein’s arm, “either show us a document signed by the president of the United States that says our land belongs to him, or get the hell off our property.”

“If you won’t leave here of your own free will,” Coburn warned, “then my deputies and I will have to arrest you.”

“What about you, Marshal Johnson?” Wheein’s tone was both defiant and desperate. “Are you going to arrest us?”

“I’m afraid the law is the law,” Yongsun said, the words visibly weighing on her, darkening her features.

A cold knife of fear sliced through Wheein. Hyejin and her had fled Korea years ago because their families would not allow them to be together. If they lost their land now, they would have nothing left. Wheein shifted her eyes from the marshal to the sheriff.

The chips were down: there was no going back.

She nocked an arrow and raised her bow, fully pulling the string back.

Coburn scoffed. “Think you can scare me with your Indian tricks, boy?” He touched the revolver on his hip. “I’ve got a six-shooter here says otherwise.”

“An arrow will kill you just as surely as a bullet if I’m the one to loose it,” Wheein warned.

“You’d really shoot an officer of the law?” Yongsun asked.

 _“I would if he tried to steal my property,”_ Wheein replied.

 _“Except it’s not your property,”_ Yongsun retorted. _“Not legally speaking.”_

Wheein lowered her bow, but her eyes were fiery when she spoke. _“My wife and I paid for this property, not just with our money, but with our blood, our sweat and our tears. We have more rights to claim this plot of land as ours than these men ever will.”_

The marshal seemed sad as she said, _“No, little sister, you’re wrong. You have no right to claim this land as yours. You have no rights in this country.”_

Wheein blinked several times as the words the marshal had spoken sank in. Kim Yongsun could not have stunned her more if she had smashed the butt of her rifle right between her eyes.

 _“You’re Korean, just like us,”_ Wheein said when she could speak again. _“How can you side with them?”_

_“I’m not siding with them. I’m siding with the law.”_

_“The law is wrong.”_

_“Be that as it may, it’s still the law. I’m sorry.”_

_“Are you?”_ There was a bitter, bilious taste in Wheein’s mouth.

Hyejin touched her arm before she could add anything else. _“Darling, don’t. She’s just doing her job.”_

_“Her job? Hyejinie, they want to take our land, and everything we’ve worked so hard for!”_

Wheein realized too late that she had used Hyejin’s real name in front of someone who could understand what she was saying.

 _“So you’re Ahn Hyejin,”_ Yongsun guessed.

Hyejin stared at her silently, her face impassive but her eyes flashing in anger.

“I’ll take this as a ‘yes’,” Yongsun concluded, then added, speaking to Wheein, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say your last name is Jung. What I can’t figure out is what your first name is. Wynn… Wheein?”

Wheein could not stop herself from swallowing, giving herself away.

Yongsun nodded. _“Jung Wheein, then.”_

 _“Don’t act like you’re so clever,”_ Wheein said between clenched teeth. _“I get why these men are here, but you? What’s your deal?”_

“What the blazes is going on, Johnson?” Coburn spat out, getting impatient with their incomprehensible back-and-forth. “What’re y’all talking about?”

“I’m just reminding Mr. Wynn and Mrs. Higgins of the law, sheriff.”

“Well, get it over with already, will you?” Coburn demanded.

“It is over, Marshal Johnson,” Wheein said. “You can leave now and take these men with you.”

 _“I’m not your enemy,”_ Yongsun assured her.

Wheein scoffed. _“Well, you’re not my friend either.”_

 _“You’ll have a serious fight on your hands if you stay here,”_ Yongsun warned.

Wheein clenched her jaw and swallowed hard to dislodge the knot of fear in her throat. _“So be it.”_

Hyejin’s grip on her arm tightened, but she said nothing. She would sooner die than argue with Wheein in front of strangers.

 _“They’ll bring an army,”_ Yongsun insisted. _“They’ll treat you like invaders, like enemies of the United States, do you understand? You’ll both be killed!”_

 _“And what do you care?”_ Wheein shot back. _“You could stop them, but you choose not to!”_

 _“My job is to uphold the law,”_ Yongsun reminded her, _“not make it or break it.”_

_“In that case, I hope you feel good about doing your job when you find our dead bodies, because we’re not leaving!”_

Yongsun sighed in frustration, shaking her head.

“They’re not leaving,” she told Coburn, “so we probably should.”

Coburn’s face fell. “Did you tell ‘em what’ll happen if they stay?”

“I did.”

He gave Wheein and Hyejin a hard look. “You’re making a big mistake.”

 _“All of you, get off my property.”_ Wheein’s voice rang with menace. _“You’ve got ten seconds.”_

Coburn turned to Yongsun, who translated, “He said we have ten seconds to leave.”

“You’ll regret this,” Coburn warned, addressing Wheein.

“I won’t give up this land without a fight, sheriff.”

The lawman shook his head, and gave it one last try. “Don’t start a war you can’t win.”

“Nine,” Hyejin called out in English, her rifle trained on him.

Coburn gave them both furious looks, then spat copiously. “All right, we’re leaving!”

The three lawmen and the US marshal turned their horses around, Wheein and Hyejin holding them squarely in their sights.

“Don’t think this is over,” Coburn yelled back before he spurred his horse and galloped away, Green and Skinner following closely. Kim Yongsun hung back for a moment, looking as though she wanted to say something. She seemed to change her mind, got her horse moving and caught up with the men.

Only when they had completely lost sight of all four of them did Wheein and Hyejin lower their weapons.

_“They’re going to kill us, Wheein!”_

_“And what else are we supposed to do? Let them take everything we own?”_

_“You said we’d sell the ranch and move to Saint-Denis!”_

_“I did say that and I meant it, but it’s going to take time, Hyejin, and we don’t have time!”_

Hyejin growled and stomped the floorboards in frustration. _“Dammit, why can’t we just leave this place?”_

 _“I’ve told you already!”_ Wheein snapped back, immediately regretting it.

She took a moment to calm down before she continued:

_“All the money we had was used to buy this ranch. If we lose this, we have nothing left. Nothing, do you understand? We’ll be homeless and destitute. Do you know what would happen to us then? A couple of homeless unmarried Asian women in the American West? I’ll sooner die than see you become a prostitute, or some rich man’s servant wife!”_

Wheein did not realize that she was crying until Hyejin came up to her and wiped the tears off her face.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Hyejin said, kissing her on the forehead before hugging her close. _“You’re right, my love, you’re always right. I’m sorry.”_

Wheein tightened their embrace. _“I don’t want to die, Hyejin, but I won’t live without you. I just won’t.”_

 _“I’m not going anywhere,”_ Hyejin promised. _“I’ll be with you no matter where that is.”_

They came an hour before sundown, just as Wheein finished barring the back door.

 _“They’re here,”_ Hyejin announced.

Wheein peeked between the boards blocking the window where Hyejin had been keeping watch. _“How many do you see?”_

 _“Not sure,”_ Hyejin replied. _“Too many.”_

Wheein took another look and saw two dozen men, possibly more, making their way towards the ranch.

 _“The marshal didn’t lie,”_ Wheein agreed. _“This really is a small army.”_

Hyejin turned to her. _“Wheein—”_

Wheein hushed her. In all the years they had been together, this was one of the rare times she had seen Hyejin look scared, and it terrified her. _“I know, darling, it’s all right.”_

But nothing about this was all right. What right did these men have to come to their home, demand that they relinquish everything they had worked so hard for, and kill them when they refused to leave? It was unfair. Their only crime, hers and Hyejin’s, was to have been born in a country where their love was unacceptable; now they would pay for it with their lives in a blood-soaked land that had never wanted them.

A single tear escaped Hyejin’s eye and Wheein placed the palm of her hand against Hyejin’s cheek to stop it from falling, her own vision blurring and her strength threatening to desert her.

 _“Don’t cry, my love,”_ Hyejin said with trembling lips and more tears running down her cheeks.

 _“You’re the one who’s crying,”_ Wheein remarked.

The two of them laughed and weeped at once, kissing and hugging as if it were the last time.

 _“I love you,”_ Wheein whispered.

 _“And I love you,”_ Hyejin responded.

They let go of each other, exchanged one last glance, and prepared to fight.

This was wrong. Thirty men strong against two people for a tiny plot of land perched on top of a cliff. Yongsun wanted no part of this and had to fight off the urge to turn tail and ride off as fast and as far as she could from this place, this entire country. Still, she resisted, holding on to the hope that her presence here might be the only thing that prevented this couple of honest, hard-working ranchers from being slaughtered.

That hope, however, proved short-lived and went up in smoke as soon as Jung Wheein turned down Coburn’s offer to come out peacefully, forcing the sheriff to reluctantly give the signal for the attack to begin. Volleys of shots rang out immediately, but Yongsun found herself unable to fire her rifle. She fell back and circled around the largest group of attackers like a general overseeing a battle; then something caught her eye and she soon noticed a man brandishing a fire bottle, ready to hurl it at the ranchers’ house. She aimed for the bottle, intent on shooting it out of the man’s hand, but before she could do so, Otis Skinner raised his rifle and, a moment later, Yongsun saw Coburn fall to the ground with a gaping hole in the middle of his chest.

An instinct, perhaps, or an intuition, made her turn her head just in time to catch Elias Green’s eye. She knew instantly what his intention was and, without a moment’s hesitation, took a shot at him, missing and hitting his horse in the neck instead. The poor animal reared in terror and fell to the ground with Green still on its back, which gave Yongsun just enough time to escape.

As her mind raced and desperately tried to make sense of what had just happened, one thought quickly crystallized: she had to go back to Valentine, back to Billy Moon.

There was the sound of smashing glass and a whoosing noise Wheein could not immediately identify. Then she saw the orange glow through the gaps in the boarded up windows and around the edges of the back door, and she knew.

Fire bottles. They were going to burn the house down with Hyejin, Suwon and her inside.

 _“We’ve got to get out of here, now!”_ Wheein called out to Hyejin.

 _“What happened?”_ Hyejin asked, moving away from the window.

 _“They’re burning the house down!”_ Wheein said. _“They’re trying to smoke us out! I think the back door’s already on fire!”_

_“What are we gonna do?”_

Wheein urged Hyejing to follow her, then positioned herself in front of the door with her rifle at the ready. _“Open it.”_

_“What? But you just said—”_

_“Hyejin, don’t argue with me, just open the door!”_

Hyejin reluctantly complied and would have been engulfed in flames had the door not shielded her. Suwon, who had been ready to pounce, backed away nervously at the sight of this raging inferno, but Wheein stood still, finger poised on the trigger. The only thing that came through the door was the voracious fire quickly making its way inside the house.

 _“We can’t leave through here!”_ Hyejin yelled out. _“We’ll be roasted alive!”_

Wheein’s mind went blank for a moment before her instinct took over, and she ran for one of the nearby windows, kicking at the boards that covered it.

 _“Help me out!”_ she shouted at Hyejin.

Fueled by fear and desperation, the two of them managed to knock the boards off and climb out the window, urging Suwon to follow them. The dog did as he was told, but instead of running to the place where Wheein and Hyejin had hidden their horses, he went after the men who were sneaking about the house. Wheein shouted at him to come back, but Suwon was mad with fury and ignored her calls. He jumped at the first intruder he found and was able to rip his throat out before another one of Coburn’s men realized what was happening and shot him.

Wheein cried out, alarming Coburn’s men. She tried to run to her beloved dog, but was immediately stopped by Hyejin.

_“There’s nothing we can do for him now! We’ve gotta get out of here!”_

Wheein wanted to protest, but Hyejin’s death grip on her arm and the silent pleas in her eyes convinced her otherwise. The two of them sprinted to their horses and mounted them, digging their heels into their steed’s sides and leaning forward onto their necks to quickly gain speed. They had covered a hundred yards when their attackers gave chase, shooting at them.

Bullets zipped past them, Wheein ducking at every shot but not slowing down or looking back, urging Hyejin to head for the nearest forested area where they could more easily lose their pursuers. Hyejin yelled over her shoulder that she understood just as another shot rang out, leaving Wheein to watch in speechless horror as the woman she loved slumped on her horse’s neck, a red stain blooming on her back like a deadly rose in the sunset.

* * *

**AUTHOR’S NOTE:** If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	8. Damsels in Distress

_“Hyejin!”_ Wheein cried out when she could breathe again.

She spurred her horse and squeezed its sides hard, but before she could catch up with Hyejin, another shot rang out and Wheein’s horse collapsed, sending her crashing to the ground. Dazed and disoriented, Wheein struggled to get to her feet and was surprised to see that Hyejin’s white mare had come back for her.

 _“Come on!”_ Hyejin called, her face a mask of pain.

 _“Can you ride?”_ Wheein asked as she climbed behind her.

 _“I think so,”_ Hyejin said through gritted teeth.

She got the horse moving as soon as Wheein had wrapped her arms around her, their pursuers getting closer with every second.

 _“You got a rifle?”_ Wheein asked. _“I gotta get rid of those fools on our tail.”_

Hyejin told her to use the Winchester strapped to the saddle. Holding on to Hyejin with her left arm and using her left shoulder to support the barrel of the rifle, Wheein took several shots and was able to hit a few of the men chasing them. Still, a couple remained, undeterred, and Wheein instructed Hyejin to cut through the woods.

Hyejin tried her best to weave between the trees, but her wounded shoulder made it difficult for her to keep up their speed, especially with Wheein having to keep herself balanced on the mare’s rump. What was even worse, their blue-eyed, snow-white horse could be seen from a distance, even at night, which would make it that much harder for them to evade their pursuers.

 _“We’ve got to lose the horse,”_ Wheein decided.

_“What? Have you lost your mind?”_

_“We’re going too slow and they’ll spot her from a mile away.”_

Hyejin brought the horse to a stop. _“What are we gonna do?”_

 _“For now, we hide,”_ Wheein replied as she dismounted. _“You got a knife?”_

Hyejin nodded.

_“I’ll get the saddle bags. You go hide, you stay put and you stay quiet. I’ll find you when we’re clear.”_

At first, there were only leaves and branches and the sound of her own ragged breathing; but once she was able to calm down a bit, other things appeared, until she found what she had been looking for.

The tree had been dead for a long time, covered as it was in moss, and had fallen right next to a large rock, creating a nook that would keep her out of sight and allow her to rest for a moment. There was a throbbing, smarting pain in her right shoulder and her blouse stuck to her back where the blood had soaked through, at times rubbing against her wound. Hyejin ignored it and focused instead on quietening her breathing.

All around her were noises, soothing like the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves, or startling like the snapping of a branch or the drumming of a woodpecker; only one sound came through, sharp and deadly, like an arrow slamming into her heart. She froze and listened.

Voices. Getting closer.

“It was their horse, I tell you,” one of them was saying.

“Then where the hell are they?” another one asked.

“They can’t have gone too far.” It was the first voice again. “Come on, let’s have a look around.”

Hyejin wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her knife and pulled it out slowly, thankful that she was left-handed and would be able to use the full strength of her arm if she needed it.

Several moments of eternity passed, the deafening rush of her blood almost drowning out the approaching footsteps of one of them.

“Where are you?” He was much too close, his tone cruelly playful. “I know you’re here, ‘cause I can smell your blood!”

The arrogant swine wasn’t even trying to catch her by surprise. He thought she was too scared to move.

He was wrong. Dead wrong.

She took a peak from behind the rock and, seeing that he had his back to her, sneaked up on him, quiet as a mouse.

Or a panther.

“Hey, asshole!”

He spun around and she lunged at him, striking him in the throat right below his jaw with a savage cry. He opened his eyes and mouth wide, but all that came out were gurgles, his lungs quickly filling with blood.

She pulled the blade out with a furious roar and watched, towering over him, as he gasped and bled to death on the forest floor.

Wheein’s heart leapt in her chest when Hyejin’s scream broke the silence. The man she had been tracking took off like a startled hare and Wheein had to give chase, dropping the saddle bags and the rifle that were slowing her down and pulling out her knife. She caught up with him and pounced, but he was much heavier than her and she could only knock him slightly off balance before he shrugged her off and threw her to the ground.

“There you are, you little shit!” the man growled. “Sounds like my friend got your whore, so now I’m gonna take care of you!”

He fell upon her like a bear, slapping the knife out of her hand when she took a swipe at him. He wrapped both his hands around her neck and squeezed, so hard that Wheein thought her head might pop right off her neck.

She grabbed at his wrists and pulled with all of her strength, but his arms were like thick wooden poles that had been buried three feet deep into the ground. Trapped and unable to breathe, she trashed and kicked in a desperate effort to free herself, but her vision was quickly dimming and she knew that she was almost out of time.

She pounded her fists on his forearms, her consciousness fading away. Unexpectedly, her mind conjured an image of Hyejin’s face, and the pressure that was crushing her was released, air rushing into her lungs. She lay on the ground taking great gulping breaths and blinking her tears away, staring into the snarling face of a woman she did not recognize. She blinked again, until Hyejin’s soft, beautiful features had returned.

 _“Hyejinie,”_ she croaked, relief washing over her.

 _“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”_ There was something raw and unsettling in Hyejin’s normally husky voice.

_“I… think I’m okay. You?”_

_“I’m fine,”_ Hyejin said, helping her to sit up with a twitch of her face that betrayed the pain she was trying to conceal.

 _“You’re not fine.”_ Wheein looked around and saw the man who had nearly strangled her to death lying on his back, eyes and mouth open and a deep gash in his throat.

 _“I killed… two men,”_ Hyejin said, her words laden with disbelief and shame.

 _“Hey, look at me.”_ Wheein took Hyejin’s face between her hands. _“Darling, look at me.”_

Hyejin’s eyes focused on her once more and Wheein caressed her cheeks with the pad of her thumbs.

 _“You saved my life,”_ she said. _“You saved both our lives. Thank you.”_

Hyejin gave her a faint smile. _“We’re not out of the woods yet.”_

 _“True,”_ Wheein agreed, getting up from the ground. _“Let’s go see if we can find that horse of ours and all the stuff I dropped when I failed to rescue you.”_

Byulyi lay down on her bunk bed and closed her eyes, trying to block out Wendell White and Sampson Black’s bickering. This instantly brought back the hurt and anger she had seen on Kim Yongsun’s face, and with it, a nauseating wave of guilt and self-loathing. How could she have so completely messed everything up?

The door to the sheriff’s office opened and Byulyi was shocked to see Yongsun walk in and head straight for her cell.

 _“I need your help,”_ Yongsun said without preamble.

The hurt and anger were still there, but they were now mere shadows to something stronger, more immediate.

Fear.

 _“What for?”_ Byulyi asked, the thought of refusing Yongsun anything at this point unfathomable, and the chance at making amends, unexpected.

 _“Something very dangerous,”_ Yongsun admitted, _“but if we get out of it alive, I’m willing to forget about the attempted robbery. You’ll be a free man.”_

 _“What happened to the sheriff and his men?”_ Byulyi hated the note of resentment that rang into her words. _“Did he put you up to this, or did you feel this would be a faster way to get rid of me?”_

 _“I just saw Sheriff Coburn get shot dead by one of his deputies while the other tried to kill me,”_ Yongsun explained. _“A couple of ranchers whose only crime is to be Korean are probably being shot to bits or burned alive as we speak. I have to help them, but I can’t do this on my own, and you’re the only person I know in this town.”_

 _“You know Sampson and Wendell here,”_ Byulyi said, indicating her jail mates.

 _“I suppose you’re right,”_ Yongsun conceded, _“but I’m not sure I trust them.”_

Surprise, and a spark of hope. _“But you trust me?”_

Yongsun bit her lip, hesitating. _“I trust my intuition. I don’t think you’re as bad as recent events suggest.”_

 _“Only one way to find out if you’re right,”_ Byulyi concluded.

_“Is that a yes, Mr. Moon? Will you help me?”_

Between hanging for attempted robbery, being murdered by Hank Stanton’s hired thugs, or dying alongside Kim Yongsun to defend a couple of innocent people against a rogue posse of thirty, there was no doubt in Byulyi’s mind which way she would choose to go.

_“Yes, Miss Yongsun, I’ll help you.”_

The ghost of a smile appeared on Yongsun’s lips and vanished immediately, as ghosts will. Yongsun unlocked her door cell and opened it, then turned to Wendell White and Sampson Black to let them out.

“Sheriff Coburn and his deputies won’t be able to see to their duties for a while,” she told them, “and I don’t know when I’ll be back, so you’re free to go for now. But try not to leave Valentine, gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Miss Johnson,” Wendell White said.

“That’s a swell lady you’ve got there, Billy,” Sampson Black added.

Byulyi could no have agreed more; and if she and Yongsun survived the night, Byulyi would spend the rest of her life proving that Yongsun had been right to trust her intuition.

They almost ran their horses into the ground galloping back to Castor’s Ridge; but by the time they got there, the house and barn were already aflame and all the animals, including the dog, had been slaughtered.

 _“We’re too late,”_ Yongsun said, her voice heavy with remorse and her eyes wide from horror.

 _“Maybe not,”_ Byulyi offered, quickly dismounting.

A nearby watering trough had given her an idea. She ran as fast as she could to it and, finding it full of water, lay down into it.

 _“What are you doing?”_ Yongsun asked, looking as though she thought Byulyi had lost her mind.

 _“I’m going to see if they’re still in there!”_ Byulyi answered over her shoulder as she ran toward the burning house, soaked from head to toe.

 _“What?”_ came Yongsun’s stunned reply. _“Billy, wait!”_

Byulyi knew this was a crazy idea, but there was no time to argue. The front and back doors were impassable and all the windows had been barricaded. All, except for one. Without a moment’s hesitation, she jumped through it and landed in the middle of hell. Keeping low and covering her nose and mouth with the collar of her shirt, she made her way through walls of flames and smoke, coughing and blinking and calling out to anyone who might be able to hear her. It was a small house and checking every room would only take a moment, but the fire was already raging and gaining on her fast. By the time she reached the last room—the bedroom—Byulyi was certain of two things: the house was empty, and there was nowhere for her to go.

She was trapped.

Yongsun jumped off her horse and sprinted toward the house, fear clenching its knotty fingers around her heart. She reached the window where she had seen Billy disappear and poked her head through, but the infernal heat and smoke immediately repelled her. She ran from window to door to window, calling out Billy’s name over and over, until she heard something that made her stop dead in her tracks.

Banging and coughing.

She raced to the window where the sound was coming from, called out Billy’s name once more and heard his desperate cries and banging in response. She smashed the window with her elbow, bits of glass flying into her face, her fists hammering the boards nailed across the opening. It was pointless.

She looked around, panic clawing at her mind, then she saw it: a tree stump, used for splitting logs, and an ax leaning against it. Yongsun quickly retrieved the ax and was soon able to clear the window. Only thick black smoke came spilling out, and Billy was nowhere in sight.

She called out his name again and, getting no answer, prepared to climb through the window; but just then, Billy appeared, coughing and gasping, and Yongsun pulled him out of the pyre, hooking his arm around her neck and her arm around his waist.

 _“You foolish, foolish man!”_ she yelled at him as he stood before her with smoke coming off of him. She slapped him on the arms once, twice, three times, then pulled him into an embrace.

 _“Why would you do such a stupid thing?”_ she asked in a much softer tone.

Billy’s body stiffened and Yongsun immediately let go of him, remembering that she was angry at him.

 _“Look at the state of you,”_ she said, scolding him as she would a small child who had gone and ruined his best clothes. _“Come with me.”_

She grabbed his hand and led him back to the watering trough, ordering him to go in. Billy obeyed without a word of protest, lying back into the water until it covered all of him and staying in until Yongsun told him he could come out.

 _“We have to head back to town and get you checked out by the doctor,”_ Yongsun said.

 _“I’m all right,”_ Billy assured her, trying to squeeze as much of the water out of his dripping clothes as he could.

 _“You’re breathing,”_ Yongsun conceded, _“but something is obviously not right with your head.”_

Billy looked down at his sooty, soggy clothes, his lips curling into his trademark lopsided grin. _“You’ll get no argument from me.”_

Yongsun shook her head, relief and frustration tugging at her heart. She looked around and suddenly noticed the devastation: the burning hourse and barn, the slaughtered cattle, the trampled garden, the dead dog and the scattered corpses.

 _“I’ve got to take the sheriff’s body back to Valentine,”_ she said, remembering Coburn.

_“What are we going to do about the ranchers?”_

_“My guess is they were either kidnapped or killed somewhere else, or they somehow managed to escape. I’ve got to look into the men who did all of this, see if I can figure out who they were. Maybe it’ll give me a clue where I might find our missing couple.”_

_“I think you meant to say, ‘where we might find our missing couple’.”_

Yongsun took a long look at this man who seemed determined to confuse her at every turn.

 _“You’ve held up your end of the bargain and came here to help me protect the ranchers.”_ Her tone was cautious. _“It’s not your fault everybody was gone by the time we got here. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a free man and under no obligation to assist me any longer.”_

 _“I’m not helping you because I have to,”_ Billy said, _“but because I want to.”_

Yongsun could detect no sign of deception on his face, but she had seen him fool a group of people who knew him much better than she did. Yet there was no denying how selflessly he had risked his life for two people he had never even met, without being asked and without a moment’s hesitation. And there was no denying that part of her wanted Billy Moon to stay.

 _“I could use the help,”_ Yongsun admitted, _“but like I said, you’re a free man.”_

The doctor, as it turned out, was nowhere to be found.

 _“Where is that man?”_ Yongsun asked, clearly annoyed. _“What’s the use of a doctor if he’s not there when you need him?”_

 _“It’s all right, Miss Yongsun,”_ Byulyi assured her. _“I don’t need a doctor.”_

 _“Don’t be ridiculous,”_ Yongsun said. _“You ran into a burning house and nearly got roasted alive. I have an ointment that works well on burns, I can take a look at you myself.”_

Yongsun took a few steps before turning around and realizing that Byulyi was not following her. _“What are you doing?”_

 _“You want me to go to your room?”_ Byulyi was both thrilled and terrified at the prospect.

Yongsun seemed puzzled by the question. _“That’s where my ointment is.”_

 _“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,”_ Byulyi said, knowing she would be at a loss to explain why she could not take off her shirt for Yongsun to check for burns on her arms, back and chest.

Yongsun’s expression turned amused. _“Why, Mr. Moon, are you concerned what people might say about me if they saw us go to a hotel together?”_

 _“Aren’t you?”_ Byulyi was dismayed that she hadn’t even given a thought to what her going to Yongsun’s room might do to her reputation.

Yongsun sighed. _“People will think whatever they will. There’s not much I can do about that, so as long as I’m true to myself, what does it matter what people say?”_

Yongsun’s words hit Byulyi with the force of an enraged bull. Never before had her lies weighed so heavily on her, and never had her imposture appeared to her for what it truly was: cowardice. All this time, she had been hiding behind Billy Moon because she was afraid of the person Moon Byulyi really was. When she messed up, she could blame it on Billy and tell herself that Byulyi would have done things differently. But now that she was falling in love with Kim Yongsun, she was haunted by a different kind of fear: would Yongsun like Byulyi as much as she seemed to like Billy? Could she forgive Byulyi’s lies and fall in love with her?

There was only one way to find out.

 _“In that case,”_ Byulyi said, her stomach knotting, _“let’s go see if you’re as good a nurse as you are a law woman.”_

 _“I promise I’ll be gentle,”_ Yongsun teased.

Vernon MacAllister could not quite hide his surprise when he saw the two of them walk in.

“Miss Johnson!” he blurted out. “I didn’t know you had a guest…”

“More like a patient,” Yongsun said. “Apparently, the doctor in this town vanishes at sunset.”

“Ah, yes,” MacAllister concurred. “Mr. Finch is very—how should I put it?—strict about his working hours.”

“Sure seems that way.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, after which Yongsun added:

“Have you met Mr. Moon?”

“I have heard the name,” MacAllister said, “but never been introduced, I’m afraid.”

Billy extended a hand. “Billy Moon.”

“Vernon MacAllister,” the hotel owner responded, shaking Billy’s hand. “Looks like you’ve been raked over the coals, young man.”

“Not quite, but it would have been entirely deserved, I’m sure,” Billy admitted.

“You’ll get what you deserve if you keep acting like a fool,” Yongsun promised him. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Mr. MacAllister.”

“Of course.”

Yongsun led Billy to her room, considered leaving the door open, then decided against it.

 _“He charges a dollar a night for this?”_ Billy said, glancing around the room with an appalled look on his face.

 _“Not for this one,”_ Yongsun said as she retrieved the ointment from her traveling bag. _“Have a seat on the bed, will you?”_

Billy did as he was told and Yongsun quietly took in a deep breath to quell the fluttering feeling in her stomach. She set the ointment down on the bedside table and, indicating the bed, asked:

_“May I?”_

Billy patted the spot next to him and Yongsun sat down.

 _“Let me see your hands,”_ Yongsun said.

They were as soft and as slim as she remembered, the fingers long and slender like those of a pianist. She let go of them, her eyes raising to briefly meet his before moving on to his other features: the shapely monolid eyes, the sharp small nose, the plump, almost girlish lips, the pointed chin, the hairless cheeks…

 _“So handsome,”_ she whispered, marveling at the smooth feel of his skin against her fingertips.

Billy’s lips parted with a gasp, his body stiffening, and something in his eyes flickered, as if a light had come on and a mask had fallen off, baring the soul that had been hiding in the dark.

A soul that was very much like her own, torn between two opposing forces.

Want and fear.

Billy’s lips were on her own before her mind could catch up with her free-falling heart; yet even in that moment of hesitation when her mind tried to take over and stop her, Yongsun knew she was on a runaway train and had no desire to get off.

She kissed Billy back and did not resist when he unfastened her blouse, moaning softly into his ear as his lips, tongue and breath left their invisible marks on the delicate skin of her neck. She lay back on the bed, taking him along until his entire body pressed down on her, and still, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more of him, all of him, and tugged at his shirt, intent on taking it off, but Billy pushed himself off of her and reeled back as though she had suddenly turned into a viper.

 _“I’m sorry, Miss Yongsun.”_ He was panting and flushed. _“I can’t do this. Not now, not when everything is still so messed up…”_

Yongsun sat up and covered her neck, feeling colder and more exposed than if she had been completely naked.

 _“Billy—”_ she began, but he would not let her speak.

“We need to find the ranchers,” he insisted. “We need to find the men who killed Coburn and tried to kill you. And we need to leave Valentine now, before Hank Stanton sends his thugs after us.”

 _“Hank Stanton.”_ A hard, foul-tasting name. _“The man you owe money to.”_

Billy lowered his eyes, shame and remorse echoing in his silent confession.

 _“Even if I wanted to leave now,”_ Yongsun objected, _“I can’t go after Green and Skinner until I know who they really are. They could be anywhere.”_

_“I know who they are.”_

Yongsun’s eyes widened. _“How?”_

 _“They’re members of a notorious gang,”_ Billy said. _“The Skinner Brothers. Been terrorizing the Tall Trees region for years. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of them.”_

_“Why didn’t you tell me? Or Coburn?”_

_“You never asked, and Coburn knew. I figured he must’ve had his reasons for deputizing two of these bastards, but now I think he was just fooled, or a complete fool himself.”_

Yongsun needed a moment to process what Billy Moon had told her. She had heard of a gang that had been the scourge of the eastern region of West Elizabeth, but had never given them much thought since it had been out of her jurisdiction. Now she wished she had minded them a lot more.

 _“Whatever Coburn was,”_ Yongsun said, _“it’s too late for him now. But it may not too late for Jung Wheein and Ahn Hyejin.”_

Billy gave her a questioning look. _“Are those our ranchers?”_

_“They are. And they need our help.”_

_“Let me go change and grab a few things, and we can leave for Tall Trees at once.”_

Yongsun watched Billy leave, then lay back on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut to try and put out the fire he had ignited in her.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

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	9. The Unbearable Truth

The night was all around them, at once protective and threatening, shrouding them in shadows as it did everything else. Hyejin’s head rested on Wheein’s shoulder, her chest pressed against her back, but her hold around Wheein’s waist was weakening,

 _“Stay with me, love.”_ Wheein gave Hyejin’s hand a gentle squeeze, hoping she could not hear the tremors of fear in her voice.

Hyejin lifted her head to speak, her face the same ghostly white as their mare. _“Still here.”_

Wheein silently cursed the thick fog that made it impossible for her to ride faster. She had no idea where they were going, but moving at a swifter pace would have given her the illusion that they were getting closer to safety.

They rode on for a while, Wheein keeping an eye out for any sign of life, be they friend, foe or anything in between. Most of the wildlife they had encountered had been deer, raccoons, and foxes, but there was always a chance that a pack of wolves, a bear, or even a cougar might be drawn by smell the blood on them. With only their knives to defend themselves, she and Hyejin would be as good as dead.

As she pondered the grimness of their fate, Wheein noticed something in the distance that gave her spirits a much-needed lift.

 _“I see light,”_ she told Hyejin, who responded with something that sounded like _“good”_.

The fog made it impossible to know whether it was from a fire or a lamp, but where there was light, there was human life; and where there were humans, there may be people willing to help them.

They eventually reached a rundown shack that was surrounded by objects in various states of deterioration: a rickety wheelbarrow, a discarded rowboat, an unhinged shutter, a broken wagon wheel, as well as a number of half-rotten barrels and crates. Everything about this place told Wheein that they would find no shelter here, but desperation heeded no counsel and Wheein got off the horse, promising Hyejin that she would be right back.

 _“Let me come with you,_ ” Hyejin said.

_“You’ve got to save your strength.”_

_“I don’t like the look of this place.”_

_“Neither do I,”_ Wheein admitted, _“but what other choice do we have?”_

_“We could just keep on riding. There’s bound to be other people around.”_

Hyejin’s voice trailed off and she had to steady herself so as not to fall off the horse.

 _“We’ve been riding for hours and this is the first house we’ve seen,”_ Wheein insisted.

“What the blazes are you two tramps doing on my lot?” a man in his fifties shouted from the partly open door of the cabin, startling them both.

“We’re sorry to intrude, sir,” Wheein said, showing her empty hands and approaching slowly so he could get a better look at her. “My name’s John Wynn and this is my wife Ann. We were attacked a little while ago and we need help.”

“Don’t come any closer,” the man ordered, his breath reeking of tobacco even from several feet away. “I don’t want nothin’ to do with no trouble, especially from a couple of slant-eyed degenerates.”

“We won’t impose for long,” Wheein persisted, hating her pleading tone and the very idea of trusting this man with Hyejin’s safety. “My wife is hurt and we just need a place to rest for the night.”

“Only people come to folks’ home at night is thieves,” the old man replied. “Begone!”

“Sir, please—”

“Begone, I says!”

Wheein saw a double-barrel shotgun appear in the space between the door and the door jamb.

“All right, we’re leaving!” she blurted out, throwing her hands up and taking a few steps back. “Can you please tell us where we can find help?”

“Try Van Horn, north of here,” the man answered before slamming the door shut.

“North of here,” Wheein repeated, not having the slightest idea which way that was. “Of course.”

She got back on the white mare and headed in a random direction, hoping for the best.

If there was a town in New Hanover less welcoming than Van Horn Trading Post, Wheein had no desire to set foot in it. Once the night sky had given way to dawn, she had been able to figure out which way she needed to go, but now that they had reached their destination, it was all it took for Wheein to turn their horse around and head back to Castor’s Ridge. Even in its current state, their home would look a far sight better than this place.

The buildings that had not been left to fall into disrepair were dirty and shabby-looking, their pockmarked brick walls overgrown with vines, their scarred wooden walls worn-out and gray. Everywhere the ground was littered with detritus and debris: barrels, crates, discarded furniture, rusty cans, old newspapers, broken bottles, and countless other things. One building in particular—the sheriff’s office if its half-burned sign was any indication—looked as though someone had set off a whole crate of dynamite inside of it. Still, a gutted building was better than nothing at all, and since they had no money, it really was the only place they could afford.

After finding a post to hitch the white mare, Wheein helped Hyejin dismount, knowing that every eye in town was on the two of them. Hyejin insisted on walking to the burned down sheriff’s office without Wheein’s help, and while Wheein did not argue, she followed Hyejin closely, ready to catch her at any moment should she suddenly feel faint. Some of the residents barely glanced at them as they passed, while others gave them looks that were as dirty as their town. One even ventured an obscene, toothless grin and a wet-sounding air kiss, although Wheein was unsure whether he had meant them for Hyejin or for herself.

The inside of the sheriff’s office looked exactly as Wheein had imagined it, but she was surprised to find a number of mattresses on the floor as well as half a crate of whiskey. Someone had even gotten a fire going in the fireplace and it was obvious that the building was occupied by several people. Wheein headed to the second floor and, finding a grimy mattress that seemed not to have been used in a while, reluctantly suggested that Hyejin lie down for a rest. Hyejin complied without a word of protest, too exhausted and weak to be bothered by their dismal new dwelling.

Wheein knelt down next to her and placed a hand against her cheek, both as a comforting gesture and to assess her condition. Her skin, which was already frighteningly pale, now felt cold and clammy. This was not good.

 _“I’m going to go see about finding someone who can help us,”_ Wheein said in a hushed tone. _“I’ll be back soon.”_

Hyejin opened her eyes with some difficulty. _“Kiss me goodbye?”_

This wasn’t goodbye, Wheein wanted to say, but she didn’t have the heart to argue and pressed her lips against Hyejin’s forehead for several seconds.

 _“Not like this,”_ Hyejin objected, her voice so low Wheein could barely make out the words she had spoken.

She kissed her again—on the lips this time—while fighting back the tears that threatened to spill out. _“I love you.”_

 _“Love you,”_ Hyejin repeated, setting her head down and closing her eyes.

Wheein had to stop herself from running down the stairs so as not to let Hyejin know how scared she was; once outside, however, she threw caution to the wind and made a mad dash for the Old Light saloon.

The place, while rundown and unwelcoming as anything else in Van Horn, was buzzing with the lively conversations—or drunken arguments—of a fair-sized crowd and even showcased the talent of a fairly competent piano player. But as the patrons became aware of Wheein’s presence, the chatter died down and someone spat on the floor right in front of Wheein’s feet, eyeing her menacingly.

Wheein drew in a deep breath to keep her temper in check and approached the bar.

“Look at that lil’ yella fella,” the spitter said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “A yella fella inside out!”

Laughter exploded all around and Wheein gritted her teeth, knowing Hyejin’s life depended on her keeping a cool head.

“Whaddaya want?” the barkeeper asked in a tone that was as harsh and unfriendly as her establishment. She had a mass of frizzy black hair sticking out of a bulldogger hat that hid half of her face as she wiped a glass clean.

“I need help,” Wheein said. “My wife is hurt and it’s… pretty bad.”

The barkeeper looked up so Wheein could see her beady black eyes. “And whaddaya want me to do about it? Do I look like a doctor to you?”

Wheein clenched her jaw and swallowed back the bitter words prickling her tongue. “Where can I find a doctor?”

The barkeeper scoffed. “Even if I knew that, what makes you think I’d tell you? You come in here, don’t even buy a drink and demand information. Why should I help you?”

“We were attacked, lost all our money!” Wheein explained, anger and desperation making her voice quiver.

“Well, that ain’t my fault, is it?” the barkeeper retorted.

“Just tell me where I can find a doctor and I’ll be gone before you even know!”

“We don’t like your kind here,” the barkeeper said, “and we like your kind of trouble even less. Get out.”

“Miss, please!”

A young man with an eye patch wearing a floppy top hat and fashionable clothes got up from his chair.

“You heard the lady,” he warned. “Get out, you yellow bastard, or I’ll throw you out myself!”

Wheein balled her fists and stormed out of the saloon, bumping into a man with such force she would have ended up sprawled onto the ground if the man had not caught her by the front of her shirt.

“Whoa, there, little feller!” the man exclaimed. “Where you goin’ in such a rush?”

“Sorry, mister, I didn’t see you there.” Wheein’s words sounded angrier than apologetic, but she was beyond caring at this point. Would this nightmare never end?

“It’s all right, no harm done.”

Everything about this man screamed of danger: the week-old stubble and unkempt brown hair; the chapped lips, sunburned face and squint lines around his gold-and-blue eyes; the rough, callused hands covered with cuts and scratches; the worn-out, stained clothes that smelled of gunpowder and blood; and the pair of well-used revolvers hanging on his hips. Yet there was a kindness in his voice that Wheein had not heard from a stranger since she and Hyejin had met Old Man Haggerty. He took notice of the blood on her clothes, smiled and spoke again:

“Is that what happened in there? I’d sure hate to see the other guy!”

Wheein knew he was being friendly, knew he had no idea that most of the blood was Hyejin’s. She tried to laugh, but her chuckle came out as a sob and she broke down in tears, burying her face into her hands.

“There, there, it’s going to be all right,” the man said with a comforting pat on her back.

“It’s my wife’s blood,” Wheein said once she was able to speak again. “We were attacked. Lost everything except for one of our horses, our hunting knives and the clothes on our backs. My wife is bleeding to death and no one will help us!”

Her words seemed to strike a chord with the man, who shook his head with a look of disgust on his face. “And there was me thinking I was a heartless bastard…”

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then snapped out of it and dug something out of his satchel.

“Here, take this,” he said, handing her some money. “The man at the general store might be able to help you. If he won’t, tell him Arthur Morgan says hello. He’ll change his tune.”

Wheein took the money with a trembling hand. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Morgan said. “You won’t know where to find me anyway.”

“You’re a good man.”

He let out a gruff laugh. “No, I ain’t. I just can’t stand seeing a man cry. Or a woman, for that matter. So what do they call you?”

“They call me John Wynn, but my real name’s Jung Wheein.”

“Doesn’t look like John Wynn’s made you too many friends,” Morgan remarked, “so maybe you should stick to… the other name.”

“I will, Mr. Morgan. Thanks again.”

“Best of luck to you and your wife.”

They bade each other farewell and Wheein ran to the large, two-story building at the end of the only pier in Van Horn that had not sunk into the Lannahechee River, the one with the giant sign that read VAN HORN TRADING POST in faded red letters.

It had started out as an ordinary day for Silas Crawford, owner of the Van Horn Trading Post general store. He had already fed Teague, his faithful Catahoula Cur, the scraps from his last meal and was now rearranging his modest stock of liquor and tobacco products in a way that would make his shelves appear fuller.

Teague, who had been following him around as he always did, suddenly lifted his head and stood still, listening intently. This told Crawford that someone was approaching the store, and he moved behind the counter to welcome his customer.

A young Oriental man burst through the door, haggard-looking and covered in blood. The sight briefly triggered flashbacks from the war—when Crawford had been about the same age as this stranger and had had to take care of men looking similarly distraught—and the smell of blood alarmed Teague, who barked once as a warning.

“It’s all right, Teague,” Crawford told the dog before asking the young man, “Are ye hurt?”

“Not me,” the young man answered, “but my wife’s been shot and she’s in a bad way. I was told you could help by a man named Arthur Morgan…”

“Ah, Mr. Morgan, yes.” Crawford clearly remembered the man who had tried his best to hide his kind heart behind a rough and menacing exterior. “He didn’t lie.”

“I have some money,” the young man quickly added, pulling a few bills out of his pocket and presenting them with a shaking, blood-crusted hand.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that for now,” Crawford said in a reassuring tone. “Where’s yer wife?”

“In the abandoned sheriff’s office.”

Crawford decided not to question why a gravely wounded woman had been left in a half-crumbled building and instead said:

“Go back to her. I’ll grab my things and be right with ye.”

The sun was rising over Tall Trees as the jagged shape of Nekoti Rock grew larger on the horizon. Yongsun had barely said a word since they had left Valentine, and Byulyi could not help but wonder what was going through her mind. Was she angry that the two of them had kissed? That things had gotten too far? That they had not gotten far enough?

Part of her wanted to come clean and tell Yongsun the truth about who she really was, but another part clung to the idea that the moment to do so had passed and that now was not the time to get into such matters. The path they were following was taking them into the heart of the forest that had given its name to the region, and possibly straight into a Skinner Brothers ambush.

Which, of course, could also be the reason Yongsun had been so quiet all night.

But Byulyi had grown tired of the silence and decided to break it with another thing that had been on her mind.

_“You said the ranchers’ names were Jung Wheein and Ahn Hyejin? Neither sounds like a man’s name.”_

_“That’s because neither of them are men.”_

This got Byulyi’s attention. _“How’d you find out?”_

_“Mostly by accident, with a bit of gut feeling thrown in for good measure.”_

Byulyi pondered this answer for a moment. _“So, what, one of them is just playing at being a man?”_

_“Seems like it.”_

_“Why?”_ Byulyi suspected she already knew the answer but wanted to hear what Yongsun made of it.

_“Think about it: two Asian women living alone on a ranch. How long till word got around and a gang of thugs showed up to rape them, maybe even kill them? Better they pretend to be a married couple, it’s safer that way.”_

Byulyi could not have agreed more, but that still did not tell her what she wanted to know. _“You mean this whole couple thing is just a charade?”_

Yongsun shrugged. _“I don’t know about that, but I see no logical reason why it can’t be real.”_

_“And you’re okay with that? Two women being a couple?”_

_“They’re not breaking any law, so why should I care what people do in the privacy of their home?”_

Byulyi’s breath caught in her throat, her heartbeat quickening. Could she have a chance after all?

_“Miss Yongsun—”_

_“Are you really going to stick to formalities after what happened?”_

Her tone lay somewhere between annoyed and disbelieving; and just like that, the thing they had both avoided talking about was out in the open. Byulyi mumbled an apology, not knowing what else to say.

 _“What are you sorry about?”_ Yongsun asked. _“Using formalities or kissing me?”_

 _“I’m not sorry I kissed you,”_ Byulyi said, gathering her courage. _“Just… wish things had turned out differently.”_

Yongsun gave her a confused look. _“I really don’t get you, Billy Moon. You’re to one who stopped things from turning out differently.”_

 _“I know.”_ Byulyi struggled for a long moment to find the right words. _“There’s something you need to know. Something I should have told you when we first met.”_

Yongsun scoffed. _“Another secret, then.”_

Byulyi was about to answer when Yongsun’s red chestnut started showing signs of distress, repeatedly pushing its front hooves off the ground as if it were about to rear.

 _“Whoa, girl, easy there!”_ Yongsun said, but the mare went into a panic and bucked her off before galloping away.

A huge grizzly bear had just appeared in the middle of the path, effectively blocking their way. Quickly grabbing her rifle, Byulyi aimed and fired, but her own horse took fright and reared, which, combined with the rifle’s recoil, caused Byulyi to miss and fall to the ground.

The sow, unnerved by the rifle shot, noticed Yongsun getting back to her feet and charged. Byulyi, who had dropped her rifle, whipped out her revolver and unloaded all six shots into the grizzly. This was enough to stop its attack, but it did not bring it down; and now, the wounded animal had Byulyi in its sight.

It came at her like a beast possessed, and Byulyi could only watch in horror as every pull of the trigger clicked empty.

Everything happened so fast: one moment Yongsun was on her horse, the next she was on the ground, then there was a shot and Yongsun scrambled to her feet, only to see a 200-kilogram bear coming straight at her. A series of shots quickly followed and the bear seemed to lose interest in her, going instead for Billy who had also fallen off his horse and was now trying to shoot an empty revolver.

Yongsun’s rifle had stayed on her horse, but Billy’s was on the ground and Yongsun grabbed it without a moment’s thought. Time seemed to slow as she raised the rifle and took aim at the bear’s head, her mind barely registering the balled up form of Billy desperately trying to protect himself from the sow’s mauling. Yongsun took the shot.

The massive form of the bear went still, rolled over to one side and moved no more. Yongsun ran to Billy, who was lying face down, still as death, his back, arms and legs scratched up and bloodied. Yongsun turned him over to check for signs of life. Miraculously, his face had been completely spared and while his breathing was shallow, he was still alive. For now.

Billy’s horse, brave animal that it was, had only moved a few meters away to get itself out of harm’s way. Yongsun’s own mount was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t matter since one horse was all she needed. She managed to pick Billy up—he was shockingly light—and set him onto the horse’s rump before climbing into the saddle and setting off for Manzanita Post just a few kilometers away.

In spite of the early hour, there were already a number of people milling about: one man was sharpening a knife on a grinding wheel, another was chopping wood, and a woman was putting clothes up to dry. Yongsun approached the one who was closest—a blacksmith, from the look of him—and, showing the star pinned to her chest, said:

“I’m US Marshal Kim Yongsun. I hate to intrude, but I really need your help.”

The man, whose face was covered with a thick blond beard, eyed her suspiciously from underneath a red knit cap. “Okay.”

“My friend and I were attacked by a bear,” Yongsun explained, “and I’m afraid my friend is badly hurt…”

“Okay,” the man repeated.

Yongsun was beginning to suspect that something was wrong with him. “Do you speak English?”

“Okay,” the man replied.

“Right,” Yongsun said. “Does anyone here speak English?”

“Don’t mind Nils,” the woman Yongsun had seen doing the washing said, her accent noticeable but easy to understand. “He’s a wonderful toolmaker, but not much of a talker.” She indicated Billy’s prone form. “Is that your friend?”

“Yes,” Yongsun confirmed. “He got on the wrong side of a bear. Saved my life.”

“And perhaps you saved his.”

“Can you help?”

The woman nodded and called out to the man chopping wood in a language Yongsun could not begin to make sense of. The three of them got Billy off the horse and took him to a nearby cabin. It was modestly furnished but had a fireplace and a bed, on which they lay Billy face down.

The man, who was also blond and bearded but seemed older than Nils, looked at Billy’s ravaged backside.

“We’ll need to take his clothes off,” he said. “Try to keep the wounds from getting infected.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Yongsun offered.

“There’s a doctor in Blackwater,” the woman informed her. “It’s a little while away, but Father is a good rider. _Ikke sant?_ ”

“ _Ja_ ,” the father answered, which Yongsun hoped meant he was willing to fetch the doctor in Blackwater.

“I’m Hilde, by the way,” the woman told Yongsun, “and this is my father, Einar. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name when you spoke to Nils…”

“It’s Yongun. And this here is Billy.”

“I’ll boil some water while you undress Billy,” Hilde said. “Father will head to Blackwater for the doctor.”

“Thank you,” Yongsun said, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Both of you.”

Father and daughter exited the cabin speaking softly in their language, leaving Yongsun alone with Billy. Alone to figure out how to undress this man she barely knew, yet who already held her heart in his hands. How ironic that she would see him naked for the first time as he lay unconscious and helpless in a stranger’s bed rather than next to her in her own room?

Yongsun took out her knife and began to cut through Billy’s shirt so she would not need to turn him over to take it off of him. Once she had managed to discard the shirt, she saw that Billy was also wearing what could only be described as a skin-tight leather vest, which was a strange choice of undergarment but had probably helped save his life. She cut through that as well, albeit with some difficulty; and as she removed the vest, Yongsun noticed something very unusual about Billy Moon: his chest was not hard and flat as she would have expected, but soft and rounded.

Like a woman’s.

Yongsun stood frozen, her heart racing and her mind reeling, unable to grasp what she had seen. She put her knife away and frantically removed the rest of Billy’s clothes before turning the mangled, slender body over.

There was no doubt about it: this was a woman’s body. And Billy Moon had been nothing but an illusion.

The hairless cheeks, the plump lips, the soft hands, and even the diminutive size: all these things that should have clued her in and which she had chosen to ignore. Whereas she had seen right through Jung Wheein, she had been utterly blinded by Billy Moon.

Yongsun unsheathed her knife and thought of how easy it would be to end this woman’s life, to slip the blade between her ribs until it punctured a lung or severed an artery. To watch her bleed to death on a stranger’s bed and blame it on dead grizzly bear.

And the star on her chest would ensure that no one ever found out who the real killer was.

The star on her chest. Right over her heart.

 _“Byul,”_ she whispered, thinking of the Korean word for “star”, and of how the sound of it reminded her of Billy. How the day the two of them had met—was that just two days ago?—the sun had set the horizon aflame and the moon had glowed overhead, all silver and clouds. How just last night, Billy had jumped into a fire for two people he had never met, and how this morning, he—she—had taken on a bear to protect her. And there had been that kiss…

Who was this woman? Why had she lied?

Yongsun sheated her knife and turned “Billy” over, if only to hide her nakedness and the unbearable truth that came with it. Whoever this woman was, Yongsun would take care of her and nurse her back to health. At least until she could get some answers.

* * *

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	10. The Kindness of Strangers

The river shone like polished silver in the morning light as boats, large and small, glided across its mirror surface. The constant tinkle of a distant bell was punctuated by the mournful blast of a foghorn and every once in a while, a seagull would fly overhead with a series of squawks. Wheein, standing on the pier by the general store, was transported back five years to the day she and Hyejin had left Korea.

The man to whom Hyejin had been promised had paid her family a visit to make the engagement official, but Hyejin, refusing to meet him, had run off on his horse instead and stopped by Wheein’s house to pick her up.

 _“Where’d you get that horse?”_ Wheein had asked as she climbed behind Hyejin. _“I know it’s not your birthday.”_

 _“The man who wants to marry me gave it to me,”_ Hyejin had said.

_“Oh, he gave it to you, huh? And what’d you tell him?”_

_“I said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks’, then I took off with the horse and left him hanging.”_

Wheein had laughed. _“Where are we going?”_

 _“Gunsan,”_ Hyejin had replied. _“I want to see a boat.”_

_“Gunsan? Do you know where it is?”_

_“No idea,”_ Hyejin had said in her carefree way, _“but we’ll figure it out.”_

And somehow, they had managed to make it to Gunsan, forty kilometers from Jeonju, by asking strangers for directions while claiming they had gotten lost on their way to visiting relatives for the first time. They had been watching the ships coming in and out of port and the men loading and unloading them, when Hyejin had suddenly had an insane idea:

_“Let’s get on one of these boats!”_

_“What?”_ Wheein had blinked several times, thinking she had misheard, but Hyejin’s expecting look had told her otherwise. _“We don’t even know where they’re going!”_

_“So what? As long as it’s away from here and we’re together, that’s all that matters.”_

_“We don’t have any money,”_ Wheein had pointed out.

Hyejin had smiled as though she had planned for this from the start. _“We’ll just sell the horse.”_

Wheein had agreed, but only because she could not come up with anything to say against the idea. Hyejin had quickly found an interested party—even at fourteen, she could charm the pants off anyone when she put half her mind to it—and after some haggling, the man had agreed to pay a fair price for a strong, healthy and well-groomed horse.

 _“And that’s that!”_ Hyejin had proudly announced, dangling a small purse full of coins in front of Wheein’s eyes.

Wheein, however, had still been skeptical. _“You think that’ll be enough to get us on one of these boats?”_

 _“Guess we’ll find out.”_ Hyejin had grabbed her hand and led her to one of the ships, then walked up to the first mate, demanding passage.

 _“Aren’t you two something else?”_ the first mate had replied with a chuckle. _“What does this look like to you, a cruise ship?”_

 _“I don’t know what a cruise ship looks like,”_ Hyejin had answered in that disconcertingly candid way she sometimes had.

The first mate had guffawed at that. _“Look, this here ship is too dangerous for kids like you. Girls your age should be thinking about marriage, not gallivanting about trying to get aboard ships. A man could get the wrong idea about you.”_

Wheein had felt her face turn bright red at the first mate’s words, but Hyejin had just laughed them off.

 _“Marriage is the reason I’m here,”_ she had declared before walking away with Wheein in tow.

They had tried their luck with every other first mate or captain who would talk to them, but none had wanted a couple of unmarried girls on their ship.

 _“Guess I won’t be able to get on a boat until I get married,”_ Hyejin had joked.

This had given Wheein an idea. _“What if you were married?”_

Hyejin had looked at her as though she had suggested setting herself on fire. _“You’re not seriously suggesting I go back to that old fart my parents want to marry me off to?”_

_“Of course, I’m not suggesting that, you dunce! I mean what if you were married to me?”_

Hyejin gave her a seductive smile. _“Why, Jung Wheein, are you proposing to me?”_

_“I just might if you’d let me speak.”_

Wheein’s plan had involved using some of their money to buy men’s clothes for Wheein and the two of them going around pretending to be a young married couple. Hyejin had called the idea “genius” and upon seeing Wheein in her new outfit, had said:

_“Lucky for you my suitor looks nothing like you, or I’d have eloped with him!”_

_“And what a smart mouth he’d have on his hands now,”_ Wheein had retorted.

The ruse had worked like a charm and they had soon secured passage on a small boat that was headed to America and had taken them across the Pacific in just a few weeks’ time. Setting foot in a strange land with strange-looking people who spoke gibberish had been both scary and exhilarating, and the two of them had spent their first few hours in America taking in the new sights, sounds, smells and textures that were all around them.

They had eventually come across a small shop that had sold soap, wash tubs and wash boards, and offered laundry services. It had had a small sign written in Chinese in the window, and they had understood just enough of it to know that help was wanted. The Chinese woman who had owned the shop had hired them without any questions, perhaps because she had realized that they spoke neither Chinese nor English, or perhaps because she had been truly desperate for help. Either way, she had never paid them for their work, but had given them board and room instead, even allowing them to keep the clothes that customers would sometimes leave behind. They had kept some of the clothes, but had sold most of them so they could take a bath or go to the moving pictures on occasion.

Wheein had not stopped wearing men’s clothes after getting off the boat, mostly because she had grown used to the way people would treat her when they thought she was a young man. She had also enjoyed the advantages that were granted to men and which women were denied, and had never missed an opportunity to give the men who gave Hyejin the wrong kind of attention a piece of her mind in a way they could not fail to grasp even if they could not understand a single word she was saying.

She had also begun teaching herself how to read English by collecting discarded newspapers and examining posters and signs all over town. Hyejin had soon followed suit and the two of them had made it a game to see how many words, phrases, and complete sentences each could figure out. Then one day, Hyejin had seen a poster that had left her speechless, and when Wheein had confirmed that it was an advertisement for a music-hall act in a town called Saint-Denis, Hyejin had unequivocally declared that they needed to relocate to Saint-Denis.

The next day, they had packed their clothes into their bed sheets and left a note thanking the Chinese laundress, then sneaked aboard a train heading east. They had made it as far as Valentine when they were discovered among the cattle in one of the wagons. As they were being dragged off to the sheriff’s office, they had come across an old man who was making his way to the general store and had immediately taken an interest in them.

“What have we here?” the old man had asked Sherif Coburn.

“Two Chinese reprobates,” Coburn had said. “Thought they could get a free train ride with the cattle. Instead, they’re going to get a free stay in one of our luxury cells.”

“Now, come on, sheriff,” the old man had objected. “They’re just a couple of kids. Surely they’d be put to better use helping an old man like myself look after his ranch? Tell me, boy, you speak any English?”

“Yes,” Wheein had replied. “A little English.”

The old man had smiled. “Ah, it don’t matter much. The kind of work I’ll have you do, you won’t need to speak. You want a job, you and your lovely lady friend?”

Wheein had understood “job” and had nodded enthusiastically, hoping he was offering them a job and not asking if they had one.

The old man had turned out to be Joseph Haggerty, better known as Old Man Haggerty, who had owned Castor’s Ridge and had taught Wheein and Hyejin not just how to speak and write English properly, but everything they now knew about ranching.

Now the old man was gone, their home was gone, and they had nowhere to go.

Something cool and wet pressed against the palm of her hand, and Wheein glanced down to see Teague standing at her feet, looking up at her the way Suwon always had—and never would again. She crouched down to pet his head and the dog began wagging his tail, panting happily.

“You don’t mind Hyejin and me staying with you for a few more days, do you, Teague?”

After Silas Crawford had removed the bullet from Hyejin’s shoulder and managed to stanch the bleeding, he had suggested they use his apartment, right upstairs from the store, while Hyejin recovered. He had claimed it would be easier for him to keep and eye on Hyejin’s condition, but Wheein, seeing as he had refused to take her money, suspected he simply could not bring himself to let them go back to the abandoned sheriff’s office. To thank him for his kindness, Wheein had spent the last several days helping in any way she could, mostly by keeping the place clean and preparing the meals.

Teague, meanwhile, did not seem to mind the company at all.

“Should we go and see how Hyejin’s doing?” Wheein asked, to which Teague answered with a quiet bark.

The two of them headed upstairs and were greeted by Hyejin staring out the window, singing softly to herself.

 _“Sounds like you’re feeling better,”_ Wheein said as she approached to plant a kiss on Hyejin’s lips, careful to avoid her slinged arm.

 _“I’m hungry,”_ Hyejin complained, _“and I’m bored.”_

Wheein smiled, relief washing over her for the first time in days. _“Definitely on the upswing. Want some breakfast?”_

_“Depends, are you making it?”_

_“I was going to ask the dog to make it, but since you’re twisting my arm…”_

Hyejin tried hard—and failed—not to smile at the facile joke. _“Very funny.”_

_“A regular court jester. What do you feel like eating?”_

_“Surprise me.”_

_“Morning surprise, coming right up,”_ Wheein called out, grabbing a frying pan.

 _“You seem in a good mood,”_ Hyejin commented after a few minutes observing Wheein cook her breakfast.

 _“We haven’t been shot at, strangled or nearly burned to death in the past few days, so I’d say things are looking up.”_ She turned to face Hyejin. _“And you’re doing better.”_

 _“That, I am,”_ Hyejin agreed, _“although I don’t know why I have to wear that thing. My arm’s fine.”_

Wheein placed a plate of eggs and sausage in front of her. _“But your shoulder’s not. The sling is supposed to discourage you from using the arm that’s attached to it.”_

Hyejin stabbed at a piece of sausage with her fork and shoved it in her mouth, but struggled with the egg.

 _“Let me help you,”_ Wheein offered.

 _“I’m fine,”_ Hyejin snapped, shoveling some egg into her mouth to prove her point.

Wheein flinched at Hyejin’s sudden display of irritation and began eating some of her food to keep herself from escalating the situation.

 _“Food’s good,”_ Hyejin said as an apology.

 _“Thanks.”_ There was still a strange and unexpected tension hanging in the air between them, like the peculiar smell that came with the onset of a thunderstorm. _“Want some coffee?”_

Hyejin quickly got up from her chair. _“I’ll take care of it.”_

_“Hyejin—”_

_“Please, Wheein.”_

The only time Wheein had heard that pleading note in Hyejin’s voice was when she had begged her parents to call off her engagement. She got up and approached Hyejin. _“What’s going on, darling?”_

 _“I just…”_ She drew in a deep breath as though something was weighing on her chest. _“I just wish we were in Saint-Denis already. Put all this behind us.”_

 _“We’ll get there, sweetheart.”_ Wheein raised a hand to her face and caressed her cheek. _“Soon.”_

_“You know, I’m not sorry they burned down our home.”_

Wheein could see how Hyejin would have run away from a forced marriage to a wealthy man even if she had not been in love with her. Money had never meant anything to her, while freedom was everything.

 _“Well, I am,”_ Wheein admitted. _“We could've used the money we would've gotten from selling the ranch.”_

 _“We’ll make more money,”_ Hyejin declared. _“A lot more.”_

_“I hope you’re right.”_

_“I know I am.”_ Hyejin’s confidence had never wavered, even when it had looked to Wheein as though she might not make it. _“You’ll see.”_

The darkness was everywhere. The pain was everywhere. Sometimes, there would be light—a warm orange glow or a bright yellow spark—but everything was so heavy that it would soon go dark again. Somewhere at the edge of the pain, there would be something wet and cool, then something dry and soft. There would be sounds, whispers, a familiar voice.

A face. An angel. Looking pale.

Looking angry.

_“Who the hell are you?”_

_“Yongsun—”_ Her tongue was like a piece of rawhide, her throat, a dried well.

_“That’s my name, so I’ll ask you again: who are you?”_

_“Really. Thirsty.”_

Yongsun’s eyes flashed, but she grabbed an empty tankard and walked out. She returned a moment later with the tankard full of water and handed it to Byulyi, who drank greedily with trembling hands, water spilling down her neck and chest.

 _“Easy,_ ” Yongsun warned, _“or you’ll choke.”_

Byulyi emptied the tankard and set it down on the floor by the bed, noticing her own nakedness as she did so. She looked around for something to cover herself with, crossed her arms over her chest and lowered her eyes, feeling Yongsun’s stare burning through her.

 _“It’s a bit late for that,”_ Yongsun said. _“Five days, I’ve been cleaning and dressing your wounds to make sure they didn’t get infected. I’ve washed you from head to toe and stayed up most of the night to keep your fever down. I know your body almost as well as mine by now, which is ironic considering I don’t even know your real name.”_

Five days. She had been unconscious for five days.

 _“You saved my life,”_ Byulyi said.

_“One could argue that you saved mine first, so now that we’re even, will you tell me your name and why you keep lying to me?”_

_“Byulyi. My name’s Moon Byulyi.”_

Yongsun let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. _“Byulyi, of course. Your name is literally_ Moon Star _.”_

She ripped the star pinned to her chest and flung it at Byulyi, barely missing her head.

 _“Do you know how many times I nearly threw that thing into the fire?”_ Yongsun’s voice quaked with suppressed fury. _“Too many times to count! What kind of law woman am I if I can’t even tell a man from a damned woman?”_

 _“But you can tell a man from a woman,”_ Byulyi argued. _“You told me you’d guessed Jung Wheein was not a man!”_

 _“A guess is all it was!”_ Yongsun shot back. _“And I can’t begin to guess why you couldn’t be honest with me from the start!”_

_“I wanted to tell you the truth so many times, unnie, and I was about to when the bear attacked—”_

_“You’re going to blame the bear now?”_ Yongsun gave her a disgusted look. _“You had plenty of time before that.”_

 _“I know!”_ Byulyi squeezed her eyes shut and hung her head, repeating more softly, _“I know.”_

_“Then why didn’t you?”_

Byulyi’s head whipped up. _“I was afraid, okay? I got scared. I’d been Billy Moon for so long, I didn’t even think twice about introducing myself to you as him.”_ She paused, remembering the moment she had first laid eyes on Yongsun. _“Why would I? Everybody in Valentine knows me as Billy, and you were just another pretty lady who’d got off the train. How was I supposed to know you were different?”_

_“Why didn’t you tell me later, then? When we were talking?”_

_“So I was supposed to tell you all my secrets in one go, is that it?”_ Byulyi held her gaze. _“That my father’s a gambler, that I’m a gambler, that I owe more money than I’ve ever owned, that I’m not a man, is that what I should’ve said? Did you tell me everything about yourself?”_

“I told you the only secret I had,” Yongsun replied in a defiant tone.

_“Okay, and if I’d told you everything, would you have stuck around? Tried to get to know me better?”_

Yongsun blinked, looked away. _“No.”_

Byulyi let out the breath she had been holding. _“And there you have it. Why I lied to you even after I realized I was falling in love with you.”_

They burst through the door like demons out of hell, red-faced and red-handed with eyes that shone malevolently through curtains of bristly hair. Wheein positioned herself between these devils and Hyejin, but Hyejin would have none of it and stood next to her.

“Hello, my lovelies,” the man Hyejin recognized as Otis Skinner greeted them. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Gave us quite the slip, you did, but we love when our prey puts up a fight. Makes the game more exciting. And we always catch our prey.”

“What did you do to Mr. Crawford?” Wheein asked.

“Don’t worry your pretty head, boy,” Skinner said. “He won’t be able to scream for a bit, but he’s all right. He’s useful, and the people in this town wouldn’t like us much if we hurt him, but you,” he let out a cackle, “that’s a different story.”

A chill ran down Hyejin’s spine. “How’d you find us?”

“Ah, now that’s quite a tale!” Skinner said, eyes widening with excitement. “Green, why don’t you show these good people what gave them away?”

Elias Green stepped forward and tossed something white and red that landed with a thud at their feet. Wheein put up a protective arm in front of Hyejin, forcing her to back away.

“You sons of bitches!” Wheein spat out.

Hyejin, whose mind was reeling from the bloody mess on the floor, suddenly realized what she was looking at.

“There aren’t too many blue-eyed white mares in the area,” Skinner said with a cruel grin, “and the stable boy weren’t too keen on losing his manhood on account of a pair of Chinks, so he let us take the horse’s head instead.”

Laughter rippled through the group of men and Hyejin’s gut feeling told her that the stable boy had still suffered a horrible fate despite his treachery.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” Skinner added after the laughter had died down. “You two are going to come with us to our special place so we can have our fun. If you don’t give us no trouble, we might even let you keep all your bits.”

This was when Hyejin knew without the shadow of a doubt that she and Wheein were going to die.

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** The Port of Gunsan did not officially open to international trade until 1899—which means I took some liberty with historical accuracy for the sake of the narrative, since the story is set in 1898.

If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	11. By the Skin of Their Teeth

Yongsun stood speechless and thunderstruck, as though Byulyi had spoken a language she did not understand.

_“Unnie, aren’t you going to say something?”_

Yongsun focused on Byulyi’s face. That beautiful face that had made her take leave of her own senses. _“What is there to say?”_

Byulyi blinked rapidly, swallowed hard. _“I just told you that I’m in love with you.”_

That word again. _“Don’t be ridiculous, you barely even know me.”_

_“True, but here’s what I know: I’d never questioned my life as Billy Moon before I met you. Never wanted to turn my life around, be a better person. Now I do.”_

_“That’s not love,”_ Yongsun corrected, _“that’s your guilty conscience.”_

_“You think I didn’t know gambling was wrong after what it did to my family? That you’re the only person I lied to? I’ve lied to countless people, but you’re to only one I ever felt bad lying to.”_

_“Yet you still lied to me.”_

Byulyi let out a deep, pained breath. _“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that. But I didn’t lie about everything, unnie, only about my name.”_

Yongsun narrowed her eyes and scoffed. _“Do you take me for a complete fool? How about the gambling? The bank robbery?”_

 _“I didn’t lie about those!”_ Byulyi insisted. _“You never asked about the gambling, and I didn’t know about the bank robbery until after we parted that night!”_

 _“Secrets, lies, they’re all the same!”_ Yongsun spat out. _“Why didn’t you come to me? I could’ve helped!”_

 _“Help how?”_ Byulyi asked. _“We’d only just met!”_

 _“But I’m a law officer!”_ Yongsun retorted. _“If you didn’t trust me, you should’ve trusted my badge…”_

The desperation on Byulyi’s face melted away, as if something had dawned on her. _“Unnie, I’m so sorry… I thought I could take care of this myself and you’d never find out—”_

 _“Then what?”_ Yongsun demanded. _“You would have acted like nothing had happened? How long do you think you could have kept this from me? And if we’d become lovers, what position do you think that would have left me in? ”_ She waited a beat before adding, _“I’d have been an accomplice!”_

Yongsun felt a perverse kind of pleasure at seeing the horror on Byulyi’s face, even as her heart was breaking. _“Of course you didn’t think about that. You only thought of yourself.”_

 _“I’m sorry, unnie.”_ There were tears in Byulyi’s voice, although her eyes were dry. _“Can you forgive me?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Yongsun admitted. _“It’s like the man I was falling for died and I’m left with a stranger who looks just like him.”_

Byulyi rose from the bed and approached her. _“Billy and I are the same person.”_

_“Not to me, you’re not.”_

_“He and I share the same thoughts, the same feelings, the same body!”_ Byulyi held her arms to the side, slightly away from her naked body. _“The only difference is the name—and it’s not even that different!”_

 _“But I wanted Billy!”_ Yongsun cried out.

Byulyi flinched, Yongsun’s words a smoking gun between them.

 _“I’m the only one you’ve got,”_ she said once the initial shock had passed.

_“Well, I don’t want you.”_

There was a steel edge to Yongsun’s voice and a stiffness to her jaw as she spoke. Byulyi gasped, stumbling back a few steps as though a blade had been plunged deep into her gut. She backed away some more and, when she could retreat no farther, sank down onto the bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling.

She did not see Yongsun fighting back her tears, the bitter taste of her lie on her trembling lips.

The rain had started almost as soon as they had left Van Horn. Now, after having been strapped to the rump of a horse for half a day and a whole night, Hyejin was soaking wet and cold, her arms and legs sore and chafed from being tied up, her ribs bruised from the ride. Wheein did not look like she was faring any better. The group was now making its way through a forest of redwood trees so tall, they seemed to reach all the way to the heavy gray clouds that continued to pour their misery down on them.

“Smell that, my lovelies?” Otis Skinner asked after taking in a deep breath. “That’s the smell of death.”

The air reeked of roasted flesh, fried fat and burnt hair, the overpowering stench of excrement and urine, and the sharp, iron tang of blood. As they approached a camp in a small clearing, Wheein realized where all these smells came from. Scattered over the forest floor were the remains of a dozen people, some dismembered or disemboweled, others hanging from branches or locked up in cages, while others still had been bound to contraptions over a fire, their skin entirely removed from neck to feet, left to die in unspeakable agony. Everywhere, the ground was slick with blood and viscera; bits of flesh and human bones that had been picked clean were scattered all over. There were body parts hanging from hooks or nailed to the trunks of trees: a severed hand here, an ear there, a head, a scalp, a leg. It was a vision horrific enough to give nightmares bad dreams.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Otis Skinner announced with a flourish of his arm. “As our honored guests, you will receive the royal treatment. We’ll even let you choose the manner of your death.” He addressed his men. “Gentlemen, show our guests to their rooms.”

Hyejin and Wheein were thrown into separate cages and cut free of their binds.

“You better kill me, you sons of a pox-ridden whore,” Hyejin heard Wheein tell Elias Green as he closed the door to her cage, “or I’ll cut off all your limbs and feed them to you piece by piece.”

“You talk real big for such a little man,” Green replied with a nasty grin, “but I like you. And don’t worry, we’ll kill you both. The question is how long it’ll take for you to beg us to end your lives.”

“Now who should we begin with?” Otis Skinner asked. “Manners say it’s ladies first and I would tend to agree when they look as good as this one.” He gave Hyejin the creepiest, most sinister smile she had ever seen on the face of a man. “But starting with the dessert might spoil a delicious meal, don’t you think, men?”

His words were met with grunts of assent and Skinner turned his attention to Wheein. “So it looks like the little man with the big balls gets to go first, right after we’ve tenderized his tough meat. Get him out of these clothes so we can tan his hide before we take it!”

 _“Let go of her!”_ Hyejin screamed out, knowing her pleas would fall on deaf ears. Switching to English, she added, “You degenerates! Keep your filthy hands off her!”

“Her?” Skinner said in a mocking tone. “I think you’re getting your English all mixed up, little lady!”

“No,” Elias Green said. “I think they’ve been playin’ us for fools.”

“Them’s not married,” another added. “That’s not even a man!”

“Oh, you naughty little girls,” Skinner chuckled as his eyes crawled all over Wheein’s now naked body. “You two have been doing the dirty and none of you’s got the right tools? We’ve got to fix that real quick, don’t we boys?”

The men hollered in agreement, and Wheein began to struggle with all her strength, twisting and kicking and bucking her hips, eyes wild and teeth bared from the furious effort of trying to free herself.

 _“YOU’RE ALL DEAD!”_ Hyejin snarled, rattling her cage like an enraged tigress. _“I’LL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU BASTARDS!”_

Some of the men snickered while the others rained punches and kicks onto Wheein, who soon stopped moving entirely.

Hyejin’s knees buckled and she crumbled into a heap with a long, howling wail of despair.

Byulyi woke up to a pile of carefully folded clothes on the bed. _“What are those?”_

 _“I got you some new clothes,”_ Yongsun said as she adjusted her gun belt. _“Yours were ruined.”_

 _“Thank you.”_ Byulyi was unsure what to make of this gesture: was it a peace offering or a parting gift? The clothes were fancier than what Byulyi was used to wearing, but as she put them on, she saw that they were well-made and fitted her perfectly. Byulyi could only guess how much they had cost Yongsun.

 _“Hilde and Einar have graciously agreed to look after you until you’ve recovered enough to travel,”_ Yongsun explained, holstering her revolver and checking that her rifle was loaded and in good working condition.

A parting gift then. _“Where are you going?”_

_“I’ve still got to find the ranchers, even though it’s probably too late by now.”_

_“Then I’m coming with you.”_

_“No, you’re not.”_ Yongsun’s tone was definitive.

 _“You got me out of jail because you needed my help,”_ Byulyi argued, _“and now you expect me to stay here and let you go off on your own?”_

 _“That’s right,”_ Yongsun confirmed.

_“Not gonna happen.”_

Yongsun narrowed her eyes. _“Excuse me?”_

_“You heard me.”_

_“You’re too weak to travel.”_

_“Try me.”_

_“I need to move fast. You’ll just slow me down.”_

_“I’ll keep up if it kills me.”_

_“It will.”_

_“So be it then,”_ Byulyi retorted. _“Hank Stanton’s got people looking for me. They’ll get me sooner or later, and then they’ll come after you. So if I gotta die, then I’ll go down fighting with you by my side.”_

Yongsun was at a loss for words. _“Why can’t you leave me alone? Just get out of my life and go!”_

 _“Go where?”_ Byulyi asked. _“Back to Valentine? To gambling my life away? How am I supposed to do that now that I know you exist?”_

 _“I don’t know and I don’t care!”_ Yongsun yelled out.

 _“Then why did you save my life?”_ Byulyi shouted back. _“Why didn’t you just let me die?”_

They looked at each other like two duelists who are about to face off, waiting for the clock to sound the hour.

 _“I wanted answers,”_ Yongsun finally said.

_“And now that you got your answers, you’re just going to run away?”_

_“Two innocent lives are at stake!”_

Byulyi had to wonder whether that was really all there was to it. _“They might already be dead, you said so yourself! If their lives mattered so much to you and you were going to take on an entire gang by yourself anyway, then why didn’t you let Hilde and Einar look after me from the day we were attacked?”_

Yongsun was silent for a moment. _“Because you weren’t their responsibility.”_

_“But I am now?”_

_“If you’d died, I wouldn’t have had my answers.”_

_“And what good are those answers if you’re going to die?”_ Byulyi shook her head. _“Unnie, your arguments make no sense.”_

_“I don’t care.”_

_“That’s a lie.”_

Yongsun’s eyes turned dark. _“How dare you talk to me in that way?”_

_“You’re angry at me because I lied to you, and now you’re the one who’s lying!”_

_“Take that back!”_

_“And if I won’t?”_

Yongsun whirled away from her, then turned to face her again. _“What do you want from me?”_

_“I want you to stop acting like we never kissed and I never told you that I’m in love with you!”_

_“I thought I was kissing a man!”_

_“You kissed me!”_ Byulyi jabbed a finger into her own chest repeatedly. _“What does it matter if I’m not a man?”_

_“Just leave me alone!”_

_“I won’t leave until I get my answers! Tell me why it matters that I’m not a man!”_

_“I don’t know!”_ Yongsun was crying now. _“I just want to go back to my life, please!”_

Byulyi held back from hugging her and waited until she had calmed down before speaking again. _“Unnie, I can’t just forget about you and pretend there was never anything between us. I’m sorry.”_

Yongsun wiped the tears off her face and crossed her arms over her chest, then dropped them to her side and shook her head.

 _“Look, I can’t stay here any longer,”_ she said, much calmer now. _“If the ranchers are dead, then I’ve got a bunch of murderers on the loose. One of them has already killed Sheriff Coburn, so the least I can do is bring that one in.”_

 _“Let me come with you,”_ Byulyi pleaded. _“It’s too dangerous on your own.”_

It took a long moment for Yongsun to make up her mind, but she finally relented. _“Fine, but you’ve got to keep up. You start lagging, I’m leaving you behind.”_

 _“You don’t need to worry about me,”_ Byulyi assured her.

Yongsun raised her eyebrows. _“You almost got ripped apart by a bear, so I’m sorry if I’m a little worried with the luck you’ve had these days.”_

Even though her expression remained strained, there was a hint of lightness in Yongsun’s voice that gave Byulyi hope. _“The way I see it, I was pretty darned lucky to survive that bear attack in the first place.”_

 _“Fair point,”_ Yongsun conceded. _“It’s raining buckets outside, so let’s hope that keeps the bears away.”_

_“They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place.”_

_“In this weather? I wouldn’t be surprised if it did.”_ This time, Yongsun’s lips did stretch into a faint smile.

The two of them headed outside and mounted their horses, but Byulyi suddenly felt faint and had to grab hold of the pommel of her saddle to steady herself.

 _“Are you all right?”_ Yongsun asked.

 _“I’m fine,”_ Byulyi said, willing the dizzy spell away. _“Just a bit rusty, I guess.”_

Yongsun gave her an uncertain look but kept what reservations she may have had to herself. Byulyi nodded once she felt ready to move and the two of them got the horses into a walking pace, then a moderate trot at Byulyi’s prompting. Yongsun had not exaggerated about the heavy rain, but its coolness, along with being able to move for the first time in days, had an invigorating effect on Byulyi.

They rode for a while until they reached a gully that Einar and Hilde had both agreed would take them to Aurora Basin. Its walls and path, however, gave Byulyi an uneasy feeling.

 _“Looks like the perfect spot to set up an ambush,”_ she commented.

 _“Which the Skinner Brothers are infamous for,”_ Yongsun agreed. _“We’ll have to tread with care.”_

They trodded along, eyes darting left and right, nerves buzzing with anticipation, but nothing larger than a bird came out of the shadows. They were greeted instead with a stench so foul, Yongsun had to cover her mouth and nose.

 _“That beats the Valentine welcoming committee by a mile,”_ Byulyi half-joked with a grimace.

Yongsun was about to reply when they heard a female voice screaming some distance away. Byulyi could only make out a few words, but there was no doubt they were in Korean.

 _“It’s them!”_ Yongsun said, confirming what Byulyi had already guessed.

They took off at a gallop, following the smell and the cries of distress. A camp soon came into view and Byulyi’s gut told her that whatever was happening there would give her nightmares for a long time to come.

 _“Let’s leave the horses behind and approach on foot,”_ Yongsun instructed. _“We’ll use the trees for cover.”_

Byulyi could think of no better plan and quickly got off her horse, staying close to Yongsun until she could find a tree large enough to hide behind.

 _“What the hell is going on over there?”_ Yongsun asked in a low voice.

 _“Nothing good,”_ Byulyi replied. _“What do we do?”_

Yongsun drew in a deep breath, let it out. “We start shooting.”

Two shots rang in quick succession, two of Skinner’s men went down with cries of pain, and the rest scattered around the camp to grab weapons and find cover. Hyejin watched, helpless, as Wheein lay inert on the ground, and called out her name several times, hoping she had only been knocked out but fearing the worst.

Then something caught her ear. Voices. Female.

_“Watch out, unnie, they’re trying to flank us!”_

They were speaking Korean!

Hyejin did not recognize the voice but the familiar sound of the language she had heard so few people speak in this country was so comforting, her heart swelled with gratitude. She immediately thought of the pretty marshal who had accompanied Sheriff Coburn during his visit at Castor’s Ridge. They may have been on opposite sides when it came to land ownership, but this was a real law woman who would protect Wheein and her from these monsters.

She called out to Wheein, over and over.

It came from somewhere in the darkness. A sound, calling her forth. She followed it, other sounds coming through as she got closer, then pulling her forward like a strong undercurrent she could not resist. She broke through and opened her eyes, the rain, the pain and the fear hitting her all at once.

She heard it again: her name.

Hyejin’s voice.

Wheein turned her head toward the sound, saw her in that horrid cage and clambered to her feet holding on to anything she could grasp, grunting from the effort. She made her way to Hyejin as fast as her aching everything would allow, found the door to her cage chained up but saw that the cage itself was held together by thick rope ties. She did not have a knife on her—those bastards had made sure of it—and, looking around, could find nothing sharp she could work with; then she noticed the small fires used on previous torture victims and knew what she had to do.

She grabbed a burning log from one of the fires and scurried back to Hyejin, making sure nobody was paying attention to her.

 _“What are you doing?”_ Hyejin asked.

 _“Setting you free,”_ Wheein replied. _“Stand back.”_

Hyejin did as she was told and Wheein touched the flame coming off the log to the ties along one of the cage’s upright poles. She waited for the fire to burn the ties off and kicked the pole loose, opening up a space that was now wide enough for Hyejin to squeeze through.

 _“Are you all right?”_ Hyejin inquired.

Wheein motioned for her to crouch down. _“My head feels like it’s about to split in two, but I’ll survive. Did they hurt you?”_

_“They were too busy hurting you.”_

_“What got their attention?”_

_“It’s either angels from heavens, or the marshal who paid us a visit before everything went to hell.”_

Wheein gave her a wary look. _“You mean Kim Yongsun?”_

_“That’d be my guess. The voice I heard wasn’t hers, though, but she spoke Korean and said ‘unnie’.”_

_“It’d be a strange coincidence if that unnie wasn’t Kim Yongsun,”_ Wheein conceded, _“and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”_

 _“She’s a real law woman,”_ Hyejin reminded her. _“She’ll help us this time.”_

_“I hope you’re right. Either way, we need weapons.”_

Wheein looked around in search of something they could use to defend themselves, picking up and putting on her clothes as she went. Soon, she noticed the madmen’s gruesome collection of hooks and other torture instruments and said:

_“Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine.”_

She was about to reach for a cleaver when she something near one of the tents caught her eye.

A bow and a quiver of arrows.

 _“Jackpot!”_ she exclaimed, running over to claim the precious weapon.

Hyejin picked up a nasty-looking hook and a machete. _“That should even out the odds a bit.”_

They nodded at each other and got ready to join the fight with whoever had shown up to help them.

There was at least a dozen of them coming from all directions, and only so many trees and rocks large enough to provide some cover. The pouring rain also made it hard to see clearly, the soggy clothes sticking to her like a second skin, chafing against her wounds and hindering her movements. Byulyi hit one in the head and he went down in a mist of blood, but another was able to release an arrow before she shot him too.

She heard Yongsun cry out in pain and realized that the arrow had hit her in the leg. She also saw another one of Skinner’s men running with a hatchet raised high but was able to reach Yongsun first and stop him dead with a bullet between the eyes. She grabbed Yongsun by the back of her gun belt and dragged her behind a rock, but was then tackled to the ground by a tomahawk-wielding man with a beard so thick, Byulyi could only see his blood-crazed eyes and the gaping hole of his mouth as he uttered a heart-stopping cry.

She managed to block his attack with her rifle, which he then grabbed and tried to press down onto her windpipe. He would have succeeded too, if an arrow had not lodged itself into his neck at the exact moment when Byulyi felt her strength give. She pushed the dying man off her as he retched and gasped, got into a crouch and caught sight of a young Asian man—or a woman dressed as a man—loosing arrow after arrow and not missing a single shot.

_“Unnie, are you all right?”_

Yongsun, who had managed to pull the arrow out of her leg, was grimacing with pain. _“I think so.”_

_“One of our rancher friends just took out four or five of them with a bow and arrows.”_

_“That’s got to be Wheein,”_ Yongsun guessed. _“Can you see Hyejin?”_

Byulyi peeked over the rock and soon found a disheveled but beautiful young woman holding a machete and some kind of hook, but whose wrists were being held in the vise-like grip of a man laughing maniacally in her face. Byulyi took aim and shot the man in the head, his blood splattering all over the young woman’s face before he collapsed to the ground. The young woman blinked her surprise away, her eyes seeking and finding Byulyi, who waved at her.

 _“She’s okay,”_ Byulyi told Yongsun, who took aim and shot something—or someone—behind Byulyi.

 _“Thanks,”_ Byulyi said, realizing that one of Skinner’s men had tried to sneak up on her.

They finished picking off the few stragglers left and waited until they were sure nothing else would crawl out of the woodwork.

 _“Help me up,”_ Yongsun told Byulyi, then shouted out, _“Don’t shoot! We’re not hostiles!”_

 _“It’s all right,”_ Wheein called. _“You can come out!”_

Byulyi and a limping Yongsun made their way to the ranchers, who greeted them with a bow.

 _“Hello, marshal,”_ Wheein said. _“Seems we’re in the habit of meeting in unfortunate circumstances.”_

 _“It does appear that way,”_ Yongsun agreed. _“I’m glad to see you’re both unharmed.”_

 _“You two certainly showed up in the nick of time,”_ Hyejin said. _“Thank you, Marshal Kim and… I don’t think we’ve met, Mr.—?”_

 _“It’s Miss, actually,”_ Byulyi replied. _“My name’s Moon Byulyi.”_

Wheein and Hyejin bowed and introduced themselves, then Wheein pointed at Yongsun’s bleeding leg. _“Can I take a look at that?”_

 _“Be my guest,”_ Yongsun said.

 _“Can I borrow your knife, unnie?”_ Wheein asked Byulyi.

Byulyi helped Yongsun sit down and handed her knife to Wheein, who used it to cut a large hole in Yongsun’s pants and expose her wound before sticking the knife’s blade into the ambers of a nearby cooking fire.

 _“What are you doing?”_ Byulyi inquired.

 _“The man who saved Hyejin’s life showed me how to stop these kinds of wounds from bleeding,”_ Wheein replied, then to Yongsun said, _“This is going to hurt, unnie.”_

 _“You wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place if I’d stood up to Sheriff Coburn,”_ Yongsun remarked, _“so we’ll just call it payback.”_

Wheein gave her a surprised look. _“Guess you were just doing your job.”_

 _“Sure,”_ Yongsun agreed, _“but that doesn’t make it right, does it?”_

They waited for the knife’s blade to be hot, then Wheein, pulling it out of the fire, asked Yongsun if she was ready.

Yongsun nodded and steadied herself for what was to come, but could not repress the cry of pain and seizing up of her body as Wheein pressed the blade to her flesh.

 _“Unnie,”_ Wheein said to Byulyi, _“would you mind holding her leg down so I don’t end up making the wound worse?”_

Byulyi did as she was asked and Wheein continued the cauterization, Yongsun’s muscles tensing up under Byulyi’s hands every time the searing hot metal touched her skin. Once the wound was completely closed, Wheein tore a sleeve off her shirt and made several strips out of it, which she then wrapped around Yongsun’s leg with Hyejin and Byulyi’s assistance.

 _“Thank you,”_ Yongsun said once she was able to speak again, addressing all three of them.

Byulyi helped her get back to her feet and, at Yongsun's behest, the four of them began inspecting the bodies of the dead men scattered all around.

 _“I don’t see Skinner or Green anywhere,”_ Yongsun observed.

 _“I’m pretty sure I saw them run off on a couple of horses,”_ Wheein said.

Yongsun swore. _“Nothing we can do about that now. There’s got to be a bounty on most of these men, if not all of them. I’ll be happy to give the three of your the reward money once we get back to Valentine.”_

The four of them mounted Yongsun and Byulyi’s horses—Hyejin and Wheein on one, Yongsun and Byulyi on the other—and left this place of horrors behind as fast as they could.

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTE:** If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	12. A Note to My Readers

Dear Reader,

First off, I want to thank you for your interest in my story. Your subscriptions, comments and upvotes have made a huge difference in keeping me motivated to work hard, and as a result, I have been able to update this story weekly while striving to maintain a high-quality standard in my writing. I have gotten into the habit of waking up early in the morning so I can put in a couple of hours of writing before I'm ready to start my daytime job, then a couple more hours in the evening after work. Weekends were generally dedicated to polishing up the writing I had done during the week, then posting the new chapter.

Unfortunately, recent events of a personal nature have taken a toll on me and left my physically and mentally depleted. I find myself blankly staring at my screen for most of the time I usually dedicate to writing every day, only to realize that I have only managed to write a couple of hundred words! This, in spite of the fact that I have my whole story planned out and know exactly what I want to write...

Over the last several days, it has become obvious to me that I need to take a short break from writing, since I can't take a break from my job. For this reason, I won't be able to update this story as frequently as I had so far; but never fear! I have no intention of leaving this story unfinished. I plan on returning to writing in a week or two, hopefully refreshed and able to offer new chapters that are up to the quality standard you have come to expect from me.

I am terribly sorry for having had to come to this decision, but I do not wish to sacrifice the enjoyment of writing in order to meet a deadline. That's what jobs are for (and for paying the rent and bills).

I will return soon with a brand new chapter, you have my word on it!

Until then, thank you for you patience and your understanding.

– MOONSUN4Life


	13. Wanted Dead, Not Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank every single one of my readers for the patience and compassion you have shown me over the last few weeks. I especially want to acknowledge the following people for your comments: just_passing_by, Kipelago, the_glare_you_see, LetsSayMoo, and Crsil123. Your words of support have really helped me get through this difficult period. A thousand times, thank you.

Yongsun wanted to stop at Manzanita Post to thank Hilde and Einar for allowing Byulyi and her to use their cabin after the bear attack. The Norwegian settlers did not comment on the fact that their party had doubled since they had left earlier, nor did they make any mention of Yongsun’s fresh wound, saying instead that they were all welcome to return at any time.

The four of them then made their way to Blackwater for ammunition, disinfectant and other supplies, and Yongsun, noting the “HOT MEALS” sign on one of the windows at the saloon, said to Wheein and Hyejin:

_“You must be famished. Why don’t the three of you head over to the saloon for a bite to eat while I see about that reward money at the police station?”_

_“So what are you ladies going to do?”_ Byulyi asked Wheein and Hyejin after they had sat down at a table to eat, trying her best to ignore the ongoing poker game in one of the corners of the saloon. _“After we get to Valentine, I mean.”_

 _“Hyejin and I were thinking of moving to Saint-Denis,”_ Wheein said between mouthfuls of the Prairie chicken she was devouring.

Hyejin’s face lit up at Wheein’s words, which prompted Byulyi to inquire, _“What’s in Saint-Denis?”_

 _“The music-hall!”_ Hyejin announced proudly.

_“You wanna be stage artists then? No more ranching for you?”_

_“That’s the plan,”_ Hyejin confirmed.

 _“Unnie used to be in the music-hall,”_ Byulyi said. _“She mentioned Saint-Denis too.”_

Hyejin’s eyes widened. _“Are you serious?”_

 _“Sure,”_ Byulyi insisted, _“and she’s really good at it, too. Saw it with my own eyes.”_

Hyejin and Wheein gave each other a look, then Wheein asked, _“Why’d she give it up?”_

Byulyi was unsure whether she should answer that question. _“Things got a little dicey with her manager.”_

 _“Dicey?”_ Hyejin’s eyebrows came closer together. _“What do you mean?”_

 _“Let’s just say you gotta be careful who you trust in that business,”_ Byulyi replied. _“You should ask Yongsun unnie yourself if you want to know more.”_

 _“Fair enough,”_ Hyejin conceded.

 _“We’ve survived much worse than dicey managers,”_ Wheein added, apparently picking up on Hyejin’s worried expression. _“Isn’t that so, darling?”_

Hyejin nodded, tentatively at first, then more confidently once she saw Wheein’s endearing smile. Byulyi could see how people might have been fooled into thinking she was a boy, but a grown man? That was a baffling thought. And there was the way she had just called Hyejin “darling”… Perhaps it was just a force of habit from pretending to be a married couple, but part of Byulyi wanted to believe that there really was something more between them.

 _“How long have you known each other?”_ she asked.

Wheein made a quick calculation. _“Six years now.”_

 _“You seem… close,”_ Byulyi commented.

 _“We are.”_ Only the blind and deaf would have missed the fondness in Hyejins voice, or the loving gaze she directed at Wheein, who smiled shyly and avoided Byulyi’s eyes. _“How long have you known Yongsun unnie?”_

_“A little over a week.”_

Hyejin’s lips curled into a smile. _“You like Yongsun unnie.”_

 _“What gave it away?”_ Byulyi asked, already growing a soft spot for the younger woman.

 _“Mostly the way you look at her,”_ Hyejin replied.

 _“I do like her,”_ Byulyi admitted, _“but I’m not sure she feels the same way about me.”_

 _“She could surprise you,”_ Wheein said. _“She definitely surprised me.”_

This puzzled Byulyi. _“How so?”_

_“I thought she was a bit heartless and only cared about enforcing the law. I was obviously wrong. You could be too.”_

_“You met her in pretty unpleasant circumstances,”_ Byulyi reminded her, unable to repress the faint hope that Wheein was right about Yongsun liking her. _“She’ll grow on you if you give her a chance.”_

 _“I think I can manage that,”_ Wheein said, _“seeing you and unnie saved us from a really nasty death.”_

Yongsun returned as they were finishing up their meal and, handing Wheein a small stack of crisp-looking dollar bills, said:

_“This won’t bring back what you’ve lost, but it should help you make a fresh start.”_

Wheein quickly thumbed through the money and gave her a stunned look. _“That’s a thousand dollars.”_

 _“They were very bad men,”_ Yongsun acknowledged. _“It would have been double that if we’d caught Otis Skinner and Elias Green.”_

Yongsun sounded apologetic as she spoke these words, but Wheein assured her that this would be more than enough for Hyejin and her to get back on their feet. She thanked Yongsun and gave half of the reward to Hyejin, explaining it would be safer this way.

Yongsun turned to Byulyi. _“And this is for you, Miss Moon. Try to make good use of it.”_

Byulyi took the money Yongsun was handing her, blinking rapidly. A thousand dollars. More than enough to pay off her debt to Hank Stanton.

 _“I added my share to yours,”_ Yongsun explained, _“seeing as I’m already being paid to catch criminals and I’m not supposed to take bounty rewards.”_

 _“Thank you, unnie,”_ Byulyi said, overcome with relief and gratitude.

 _“No, thank you,”_ Yongsun replied. _“You’ve risked your life more than once when you didn’t have to. I’m glad you insisted on coming with me to Aurora Basin. I never would have made it out alive without you.”_

Byulyi’s heart swelled with hope. _“I’d do it again without a second thought.”_

 _“I know,”_ Yongsun said with a faint smile. _“You’ve been pretty consistent on that account.”_

Addressing Wheein and Hyejin, she asked, _“Did you still want to head to Valentine with Byulyi and me or did you have another destination in mind?”_

In that way people who share a strong bond can sometimes read each other’s minds, Wheein and Hyejin only needed a glance to come to a silent agreement.

 _“If you don’t mind the company,”_ Wheein began, _“we’ll keep tagging along until we get to Valentine and go on to Saint-Denis from there.”_

 _“We’d be glad to have you with us,”_ Yongsun said. _“Isn’t that right, Miss Moon?”_

 _“Absolutely,”_ Byulyi agreed.

She could not help but notice how Yongsun was referring to the two of them as “we” and “us”. She may have been reading too much into this, but what had happened at Aurora Basin seemed to have noticeably changed her disposition toward Byulyi.

 _“That’s decided then,”_ Yongsun declared. _“If you ladies are ready, we should probably get going if we want to make it to Valentine by nighttime.”_

They had been riding for a little over an hour when they were approached by a group of four men who immediately filled Yongsun with a deep sense of foreboding before they even spoke.

“Good day ladies, gents,” the one who appeared to be the leader said. “We don’t normally announce ourselves when we’re on a job, but since we’re only paid to take care of the two of you,” he indicated Yongsun and Byulyi, “we wanted to give you two,” he meant Wheein and Hyejin, “a chance to make yourselves scarce and save your hides.”

“The last people who threatened to take our skins ended up dead,” Wheein informed him.

“I’ve no quarrel with you, boy, so I suggest you stay out of this.”

“They’s just a couple of Chinks, Ross,” another man said to the leader. “Who gives a goddamn if they get hurt?”

“We’re professionals,” the man named Ross reminded him. “We don’t kill people ‘less we’re paid to do so.”

“How honorable of you.” Yongsun’s voice was laden with sarcasm. “That still doesn’t make it legal, though, so here’s the deal: you go your way, we go ours, nobody gets hurt and I pretend you didn’t just threaten to kill an officer of the law.”

“Except we got a bounty notice for one Billy Moon and one Kim Johnson,” Ross said, “and you two just happen to fit their description to a T.”

Yongsun scoffed. “A bounty notice, really? Issued by who?”

“Uriah Coburn, sheriff of Valentine.”

“Interesting, especially since Sheriff Coburn died a week ago, killed by one of his own men. Happened right in front of my eyes.”

Ross gave his partners a look that told Yongsun he had not known about Sheriff Coburn’s death.

“Let’s be serious, gentlemen,” Byulyi interjected. “Hank Stanton sent you. He told me he would if I didn’t pay the money I owe him. Funny thing is, I have the money with me right now and I’m willing to give it to you. If you let us go unharmed.”

Yongsun glanced at her quickly but kept quiet, realizing that Byulyi was gambling again and the jackpot was their lives.

Ross sneered. “You think we’re idiots? Think we’re gonna take the word of some deadbeat gambler when he talks about money?”

Byulyi pulled out some of the money that Yongsun had given her earlier. “Don’t take my word for it. I’ve got it right here: five hundred dollars in cash.”

Ross was silent for a moment, apparently considering Byulyi’s offer. “I’d love to take your money, but we don’t bring Stanton proof that you’re dead, he ain’t gonna be happy. We got a reputation we’d like to keep.”

Byulyi nodded. “All right, I’ll sweeten the pot. I’m throwing in my revolver and the marshal’s tin star. You bring those to Stanton to prove we’re dead, he pays you the promised amount and everybody’s happy. Deal?”

Yongsun stopped herself from looking at Byulyi at the mention of her tin star. This was a bold move on Byulyi’s part, but it just might work if these men were greedy enough.

As if he had read her mind, Ross confirmed what she had suspected. “That’s quite an offer you make. Hard to refuse.” He turned to his men, who all nodded in agreement, then he extended his hand. “You got yourself a deal, boy.”

Byulyi gave him the money and her trusty Schofield, while Yongsun unpinned the star from her chest and handed it over.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Ross said to Byulyi and Yongsun, then to his men added, “now let’s go collect our reward!”

The hired killers turned their horses around and began making their way to Valentine.

 _“Well played,”_ Yongsun told Byulyi with an undisguised note of admiration in her voice. _“I guess we’ll have to stop here for a little while and give those men a bit of a head start before we let Stanton know that his plan has been foiled.”_

By the time the four of them arrived in Valentine, the sun was setting and the moon was rising blood red on the horizon.

 _“This is where we part ways,”_ Wheein remarked.

 _“Thank you for keeping us safe,”_ Hyejin added.

 _“I’m sorry about everything that happened to you.”_ Yongsun’s feeling of guilt over the young couple’s misfortune—and the part she had played in it—was only getting worse now that she had gotten to know them better.

Wheein shrugged. _“Sometimes, things happen for a reason. And we got a thousand dollars out of it, so I’d say things didn’t turn out so bad in the end.”_

 _“You should stay in town for the night,”_ Yongsun suggested. _“It’s getting too dark to travel safely and I can get you a good rate at the hotel here.”_

 _“What do you say, love?”_ Wheein asked Hyjein. _“Wanna spend the night?”_

 _“A hotel sounds good,”_ Hyejin admitted, _“but I’d forgotten how much this place stinks!”_

It felt like a thousand years since the last time Yongsun had laughed. _“Welcome to Valentine.”_

 _“I’ll travel with you to Saint-Denis,”_ Byulyi offered, her voice still ringing with laughter. _“I’ve always wanted to see what life in the big city was like.”_

 _“I’ll go, too,”_ Yongsun said, noticing the widening smile on Byulyi’s face yet unsure whether it was mocking, approving or a bit of both. _“If you don’t mind the company, I mean.”_

Neither Hyejin nor Wheein minded and Yongsun led the couple to the Saints after promising to pay Byulyi a visit later, mentioning in passing that the hotel had a bath.

Wheein laughed. _“Are you trying to say we’re dirty?”_

 _“You are,”_ Yongsun admitted with a chuckle, _“but I think I’m really just looking forward to a bath myself.”_

As the three of them entered the small lobby, Yongsun was once again greeted by a surprised Vernon MacAllister.

“Miss Johnson! You’re back!”

“I trust you’re well, Mr. MacAllister?”

“I am, I am, thank you for asking. When you didn’t show for several days, I thought something must have happened to you. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Yongsun said, placing eight dollars on the counter. “This should cover accommodation and bathing services for the past eight days, plus one night and one bath for my little sisters over here.”

“Your… sisters?” MacAllister stammered, his eyes going back and forth between the money and Wheein, visibly confused by her clothes. “I… didn’t know.”

Yongsun repressed an amused smile. “I never mentioned them and their visit was unexpected. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“There really is not need,” MacAllister assured her, pocketing the eight dollars. “Will the young ladies be using… your room?”

“If it’s still available, then yes.”

MacAllister seemed relieved. “It’s exactly as you left it. I didn’t let anyone touch your things.”

“I’m much obliged.” Yongsun bowed her head slightly in thanks.

“If I may be so bold,” MacAllister began. “I heard about Mr. Coburn’s… demise. I also noticed that you’re not wearing your tin star. Is everything all right?”

“My tin star was lost as a result of an unfortunate incident,” Yongsun explained. “Nothing to worry about, no one got hurt. As for Mr. Coburn, I made arrangements with the undertaker just before I left. He made sure his next of kin were informed. The rest is up to them.”

“Have you arrested anyone?”

“The man who killed the sheriff got away, I’m afraid, but most of the people who helped him weren’t so lucky. They’re rotting somewhere in Tall Trees as we speak and burning in hell if there’s any justice.”

“I see.” There was something in MacAllister’s eyes, a mix of fear and respect that Yongsun had never seen before. “Whoever did this to our good sheriff, I hope they get what’s coming to them.”

“So do I,” Yongsun admitted.

“Are you the new sheriff, then?”

“I’m not sure at this point, but that’s certainly a possibility.” The thought of going after Skinner and Green, of taking on Corburn’s sheriff duties, and of staying in Valentine for the foreseeable future was more than Yongsun wanted to think about for the time being. She excused herself and, after bidding Wheein and Hyejin to follow her, showed them to their room.

 _“It’s not exactly a luxury hotel,”_ Yongsun commented, _“but there’s no varmint at least.”_

 _“Where will you sleep, unnie?”_ Hyejin asked.

 _“There are two empty cells and a bed in the sheriff’s office,”_ Yongsun replied as she picked up her belongings. _“One of them will do just fine for the night.”_

Yongsun was surprised to find Byulyi waiting for her just outside the hotel. _“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting for me out here.”_

 _“I reckon I should keep away from the saloon,”_ Byulyi said, taking some of Yongsun’s things to carry. _“Where are we taking these?”_

_“The sheriff’s office.”_

_“The sheriff’s office? Do you mean to stay there? What happened to your hotel room?”_

_“I’m letting the kids use my room for the night. They’ve been through so much, they deserve a good night’s rest.”_

Byulyi gave her an amused smile. _“The kids, huh? Are you going to adopt them or something?”_

 _“Don’t be ridiculous,”_ Yongsun replied, returning her smile. _“I just can’t help but feel they’re my responsibility now.”_

 _“They’re grown women, they can take care of themselves,”_ Byulyi remarked. _“But I know what you mean. I feel the same way.”_

 _“You’re my responsibility too, you know.”_ Yongsun indicated the saloon with her head as they walked by. _“I’m glad you’re staying out of trouble.”_

_“Gambling is a fool’s game, unnie, and I’m done acting like a fool.”_

_“I was impressed with they way you handled those hired guns earlier. That could have gone so wrong in so many ways, yet thanks to you, we all came out of it without a scratch.”_

_“Sorry about your tin star.”_

_“Ah, don’t worry about it. I can get another one of those easily. It was a small price to pay and I’ve got a better star now.”_ Yongsun gave her an inquiring look. _“Isn’t that right, Moon Star?”_

_“You bet.”_

_“I told you already, I don’t bet,”_ Yongsun reminded her. _“But I’ll take a chance on you. Again.”_

Byulyi chuckled. _“Sounds a lot like gambling to me.”_

_“You’re a terrible influence on me, Miss Moon.”_

_“Well, you need to loosen up, Miss Kim.”_

Yongsun raised her eyebrows. _“What’s that, you brat?”_

Byulyi’s laughter was so genuine and spontaneous, Yongsun could not help but respond to it in the same way. Something small and bright suddenly appeared in the middle of her chest and quickly flared up, filling her with warmth and… happiness?

_I like her._

The thought struck her like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds and hitting her right in the eyes. She stopped walking.

_“Unnie, are you all right?”_

Yongsun let out the breath she had been holding. _“I’m… fine.”_

Byulyi searched her eyes with a mix of concern and puzzlement on her face.

 _“I’m fine,”_ Yongsun repeated with more assurance. _“You still got the rest of the money I gave you?”_

_“Sure.”_

_“Then let’s drop my things off here and pay Mr. Stanton a visit. It’s time for you to settle your debt.”_

The door to the sheriff’s office was locked—just as she had left it—and Yongsun wondered how she had managed not to lose the key with everything that had happened. She put her things down by the desk and instructed Byulyi to do the same, then remembered Coburn’s sheriff star in the top drawer. She took it out and pinned it to her chest.

_“I guess I’ll be the law in Valentine until a new sheriff can be appointed.”_

_“You’re going to need a deputy,”_ Byulyi remarked.

The thought had not even crossed her mind, but Byulyi was right, and she had proven herself more than able to take on those duties.

_“Would you happen to be interested in the position, Miss Moon?”_

Byulyi gave her a smiling shrug. _“I’m gonna need to keep myself busy now that I’ve given up gambling. Might as well be as your right-hand man. Or woman.”_

_“That’s decided then. As soon as you’ve paid off your dues to Hank Stanton, I’ll swear you in and get you a tin star of your own.”_

_“A tin star! I can’t wait!”_ There definitely was a mocking tone in Byulyi’s voice this time, but her eyes shone with the same kind of nervous excitement Yongsun felt.

 _“Shall we go pay Mr. Stanton a visit, then?”_ Yongsun asked.

_“I see no reason not to.”_

_“Any idea where he might be?”_

Byulyi thought for a moment. _“Let’s try the saloon. He’s got a lot of girls working for him there.”_

 _“Off to the saloon we go then,”_ Yongsun said, wondering if any of the saloon girls knew that Billy Moon was in fact a woman.

They made their way to the saloon, Byulyi’s heart as light as a butterfly in her chest. Yongsun had shown clear signs of warming up to her and Byulyi could not help but latch on to the hope that the two of them just might be able to move beyond Billy Moon’s shadow. As she pushed the swing doors open, she immediately spotted Hank Stanton talking to Annabelle Lee, who was her usual flirtatious self.

 _“And there he is,”_ Byulyi told Yongsun, who had suddenly turned as white as a ghost.

 _“That’s… Hank Stanton?”_ Yongsun asked in a strangled voice.

Byulyi suddenly felt as scared as Yongsun seemed to be. _“Unnie, what’s wrong?”_

“Well, well,” Stanton exclaimed as he noticed Byulyi’s presence. “Look what the cat dragged in! I’d heard rumors you were dead, Billy.”

“I guess they were just rumors, huh?” Byulyi replied, her mind desperately trying to figure out what had gotten Yongsun so spooked.

Stanton’s eyes turned to Yongsun. “I see you even brought the new sheriff along.” He shook his head, clucking his tongue repeatedly. “Terrible business, what happened to the late Mr. Coburn.”

“As if you didn’t have a hand in it,” Byulyi said accusingly.

Stanton ignored her and moved closer to Yongsun, his filthy eyes appraising her as if she were cattle at an auction. “When I heard that someone named Kim Yongsun had come here from Saint-Denis, I knew it had to be you. For a moment, I even thought you were still on my trail for that thing that happened between us, remember?”

Stanton’s voice was almost intimate, as smooth as the blade of a perfectly sharp knife; and just like that, Byulyi knew who this man really was.

“When I realized you weren’t after me,” Stanton continued as he came even closer to Yongsun, “I decided to keep a low profile and see how this thing played out. Then young Billy here messed up and started showing an interest in you, and I knew that this was my chance to kill two birds with one stone.”

Byulyi’s mind was now conjuring images that made her stomach turn and her blood boil. Had he ripped Yongsun’s clothes off and knocked her down on her back, wrapping one hand around her neck as he undid his trousers? Or had he grabbed her by the hair and forced her to get on all fours, trying to take her from behind? Had he struck her? Put a knife to her throat? Had she screamed or cried in silence?

Suddenly, all Byulyi could see was her own rage and the terror on Yongsun’s face. Her hand reached for her Schofield and found nothing. She looked down, confused for a second, then remembered she had given it to the men Stanton had hired to kill Yongsun and her. That was when her eyes caught sight of Stanton’s revolver and her hand got hold of it, aimed it at Stanton’s head, and pulled the trigger.

Stanton’s head jerked to one side with a spray of blood, his legs buckling under him as he collapsed to the floor. The saloon went completely silent in the wake of the booming shot that had just rung out, then someone began to scream.

Byulyi’s eyes immediately went to Yongsun, whose face was now a mask of surprise and fear. Not the terror Byulyi had seen there just a moment before, but the shock of someone who realizes something terrible has happened.

Yongsun opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Byulyi knew that it was all over for her, that she had messed up for good this time.

She dropped Stanton’s revolver to the floor, ran out of the saloon and mounted the first horse she saw, no longer caring that she was committing another crime but just wanting to get as far away as she could from what she had seen in Yongsun’s eyes.

* * *

  
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	14. No Going Back

The silence was such that Yongsun thought she had gone deaf; then she heard the scream and opened her mouth, but no sound came out. There was only the mute horror on Byulyi’s face and a startling metallic clatter on the floor before Byulyi fled the saloon, snapping Yongsun out of her stupor.

Yongsun ran out after her and found her voice again, but could only utter Byulyi’s name over and over until she could breathe no more and her legs gave out from under her. She fell to her knees and watched helplessly as Byulyi got further away from her, then disappeared from her sight. She let out a sob and for a long while could do nothing but cry in the middle of the street, her fingers digging into her thighs, both out of relief and out of despair: the man she had known as Stuart Horne was finally dead, and Byulyi was gone. She was gone and now Yongsun would have to go after her so she could answer for her crime and they would find her guilty of course they would because she was a foreigner in a land that hated foreigners and only minded criminals when they weren’t rich and powerful or when they got caught and they would hang her—

God, no. Not this. Not Byulyi.

Slowly, painfully, she got back to her feet and made her way to the undertaker’s, rousing him from sleep and informing him of the dead body in the saloon that required his attention; then she headed for the hotel, walking as though she were in a dream, as though she had stepped out of time.

It was not the knock on the door that woke her but the sound of Wheein’s voice speaking quietly.

 _“Unnie, what’s wrong?”_ Hyejin heard Wheein ask.

 _“Something’s happened,”_ a voice that sounded like Yongsun’s answered. _“Byulyi and I won’t be able to go with you to Saint-Denis. I’m really sorry.”_

The light coming from the corridor and from the fireplace in the room made her look as though she were made of shadow and flames.

 _“Is that… blood on your face?”_ Hyejin wondered out loud, her mind still groggy with sleep.

Yongsun wiped her cheek and looked at her hand for several seconds, as if she were in a daze.

 _“Yeah,”_ she finally said, her voice flat and unfeeling.

Wheein made a small tense movement. _“Is Byulyi unnie all right?”_

 _“I… don’t know.”_ This time there was something in Yongsun’s voice, something sad and trembling like a child lost in the dark. _“I’ve got to find her.”_

 _“Let us come with you,”_ Wheein offered.

Yongsun declined. _“I need to do this on my own. There’s a Mr. Black and a Mr. White here in Valentine who owe me a pretty large favor. I’ll make sure they help you get to Saint-Denis safely.”_

 _“Unnie, what are you going to do?”_ Hyejin asked.

Yongsun let out a deep sigh. _“I don’t know.”_

The dejected posture and distressed tone were a stark contrast to the confident demeanor Yongsun had shown just a few hours earlier. It was unsettling and, if Hyejin were completely honest, frightening. _“Please, be careful.”_

Yongsun scoffed. _“Right. You two be safe.”_

She left the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Wheein and Hyejin with a lot of questions and an unshakable certainty.

 _“Byulyi unnie’s in trouble,”_ Wheein said, as though she had read Hyejin’s mind.

 _“And Yongsun unnie’s heart is broken,”_ Hyejin added.

Sampson Black and Wendell White shared a small house situated right on the outskirts of Valentine, and Yongsun was relieved to see that there was still light in their windows. She knocked on the door, hard enough to be heard, but not so hard as to cause alarm.

“Miss Johnson!” Wendell White exclaimed after cautiously opening the door. “What a surprise!”

He seemed more worried than surprised, which in itself was to be expected considering he had just seen one of his friends shoot a man in the head, apparently unprovoked and in cold blood.

“Is Byulyi here?” This was not the reason she had called on the two men, but a part of her had suddenly glimpsed the faint hope that Byulyi might have come to them for help.

“Who?” White asked, not recognizing the name Yongsun had used by accident.

“Billy,” Yongsun corrected. “Is Billy Moon with you?”

“Nah, Miss Johnson, he ain’t here,” Yongsun heard Sampson Black answer.

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” White said, moving out of the way to let her inside.

She waited until the two men had sat down before she spoke, noticing that there was only one double bed in a corner of the one-room house. She immediately thought of Wheein and Hyejin, and of the reason she had come to this place.

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry to intrude, but I’m afraid I need to ask you to return a favor I did for you not long ago.”

“We ain’t seen Billy,” Black assured her. “I promise we ain’t.”

“I’m not here about Billy. Two of my friends are traveling to Saint-Denis tomorrow. I don’t expect there’ll be trouble, but I need you to make sure of it. I’ll pay you, twenty-five dollars each. I’d make it more, but that’s really all I can afford.”

“Sure, Miss Johnson, we’ll help you,” White said. “You don’t need to pay us nothing.”

Black gave him a quick disagreeing glance that a less observing person than Yongsun would have missed.

“I want to pay you,” Yongsun insisted. “I need you to travel to Saint-Denis with them and keep them safe until I’m done with my… business. Can you do this for me?”

Sampson Black gave his partner another look and nodded. “We’ll do this for you, Miss Johnson.”

A wave of relief washed over Yongsun. “Thank you, I won’t forget this. They’re staying at the Saints Hotel. They’ll be expecting you. Young couple, look a bit like me, you’ll know who they are when you see them.”

“What’s their names?” Black asked.

“Jung Wheein and Ahn Hyejin.” She did not even bother with the fake names, as she suspected they would not know that Wheein was a girl’s name and would not care if they could tell she was not a man.

“Don’t matter what their names is,” White said. “We’ll find ‘em and we’ll keep ‘em safe. You got my word on it.”

“And mine,” Black added.

“I don’t have the money on me, but I’ll pay you in full when we meet in Saint-Denis. You can count on that.”

White nodded. “We trust you. You can trust us too.”

“Thank you, really.” Yongsun was glad she had chosen to give them a second chance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I won’t take any more of your time.”

She walked to the door and reached for the handle, then stopped herself and turned around to speak again.

“If you see Billy, will you let me know?”

Wendell White shook his head. “That’ll depend on Billy, Miss Johnson.”

“I understand.” Yongsun let out a deep breath, her heart heavy with indecision. “You’re good friends to him.”

“He’d do the same for us,” White said, “and I think you would, too.”

The sheriff’s office was eerily quiet with the cells empty, the sheriff gone and the deputies on the run. Yongsun could hear a trickle of piano music from the saloon and this naturally brought to mind the person who had never really left her thoughts since they had met.

Byulyi.

Byulyi, who had done what Yongsun had imagined doing hundreds, no, thousands of times: shooting Stuart Horne in the head like the rabid dog he had been. Byulyi, who had ended a nightmare that had lasted years for Yongsun but in doing so, had brought the implacable hammer of justice down onto herself. Byulyi, who was now a fugitive, wanted for murder. Never mind that the man she had killed had sent assassins after both of them, that he had been running a money lending scheme, that he owned an illegal brothel and that a number of legitimate businessmen had mysteriously disappeared shortly before Horne had acquired their ventures. The man had been the worst kind of scum, yet Yongsun had never quite managed to pin anything on him because the system she represented and defended was deeply flawed, condemning people to death for stealing money from banks or rich people, yet allowing banks and rich people to steal from common folk with impunity. Byulyi had done away with that nonsense with the pull of a trigger and executed a man who had had it coming for a long time.

Yongsun’s stomach twisted with guilt: if only she had taken the time to swear Byulyi in before they had gone to find Hank Stanton at the saloon, then Byulyi would have had the authority to shoot a man who presented a danger to a fellow representative of the law. But Yongsun had failed Byulyi and because of that failure, she would have to hunt Byulyi down and make her pay for her own mistake. For a crime that should not have been a crime.

For was it a crime to step in to save Yongsun, who had been paralyzed with fear at the thought of Stuart Horne finishing what he had started after his failed marriage proposal? To act as judge and executioner for a lifelong criminal who kept eluding justice and felt no remorse for his countless crimes? To not be rich enough to bribe the judge who would carry out her sentence? To pass herself off as a man and fall in love with another woman?

Was love a crime? Would punishing Byulyi be justice?

Yongsun did not know the answers to these questions. She only knew that she could not be the one to take Byulyi to her death.

She unpinned the sheriff’s star from her chest and placed it on the sheriff’s desk. From now on, she would no longer be Sheriff Kim Yongsun or Marshal Kim Yongsun or Officer Kim Yongsun, but simply Kim Yongsun.

Kim Yongsun, who would no longer help destroy the lives of innocent people whose only crime was to have been born in a different land.

Kim Yongsun, who would no longer arrest desperate people committing desperate acts to satisfy the greed of the rich and powerful.

Kim Yongsun, who would no longer fail to bring the real criminals to justice.

She touched the sheriff’s star on the empty sheriff’s desk. Kim Yongsun, who had fallen in love with Moon Byulyi.

As if that thought and that gesture had summoned some strange kind of magic, the door to the sheriff’s office opened and in walked the only star that truly mattered to her. She stood in the doorway, handsome as ever, with a look of quiet determination that was almost heroic.

 _“You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?”_ Byulyi asked.

_“I just have.”_

_“That’s gonna have to wait, because I’ve come to turn myself in.”_

Yongsun shook her head. _“I’m not arresting you. That man should have been brought to justice a long time ago.”_

_“Then tell it to the judge when you defend me in court.”_

Yongsun could already imagine the scene: an old white man looking down on her for being a woman, and Asian. _“You think a judge is going to listen to me? He’ll say I’m only siding with you because we’re both Asian.”_

_“Maybe, but you know it’s the right thing to do.”_

_“The right thing?”_ Yongsun scoffed. _“Byulyi, you’ll be hanged!”_

Byulyi’s lips parted and she blinked, visibly moved. _“Unnie, it’s the first time you’ve used my real name. “_

 _“It is?”_ Yongsun searched her memory, certain there had been other times.

_“You called me ‘Miss Moon’ once or twice, but never Byulyi.”_

Yongsun realized that she was right. _“Then I’m a proud idiot and I still can’t let you die for this man.”_

Byulyi approached and reached for Yongsun’s face, but withdrew her hand at the last instant and let it fall to her side. _“I won’t die for him, unnie, I’ll die for you.”_

Yongsun took Byulyi’s hand and pressed its palm against her cheek. _“I don’t want you to die.”_

Byulyi swallowed hard, her fingers as warm as the high noon sun. _“I don’t want to run from who I am anymore, but I can’t do this without you.”_

Yongsun closed her eyes, the weight of her duty to the law and to Byulyi crushing her soul; when she opened them again, the silent plea on Byulyi’s impossibly handsome face broke the last of her resolve.

 _“This isn’t justice,”_ she said.

 _“No,”_ Byulyi agreed, _“but it’s the law.”_

Yongsun had told Wheein something very similar just a week earlier, and the irony of hearing those words out of Byulyi’s mouth was not lost on her. She turned away, but Byulyi embraced her from behind and this simple, comforting gesture was almost too much for Yongsun to bear. She wanted to leave this place and disappear with Byulyi forever, until no one but the two of them remembered that they even existed.

 _“The law can wait until tomorrow,”_ Yongsun said, turning to face Byulyi again. _“Can we go to your place?”_

Byulyi nodded, smiling wistfully. _“I thought you’d never ask.”_

The inside of Byulyi’s house reminded Yongsun of Hilde and Einar’s cabin, not so much because it looked similar but because it was so modestly furnished. She noticed the double bed, like the one she had seen in Sampson Black and Wendell White’s house, and the one she imagined had been in Wheein and Hyejin’s home.

 _“Is there someone I should worry about?”_ she asked in a light tone, unable to ignore the slight pinch of jealousy in her heart.

 _“There was a man once,”_ Byulyi admitted. _“Some deadbeat named Billy. You would’ve liked him.”_

Yongsun gave her a surprised look and scoffed. _“What are you trying to say? That I like deadbeats?”_

Byulyi’s lopsided grin appeared. _“You kinda do, yeah.”_

Yongsun slapped her on the arm in protest and Byulyi burst out in laughter; but her mood quickly turned serious again and to Yongsun, it was like looking out the window at a starless, moonless night.

 _“Don’t think about tomorrow,”_ Yongsun said, taking Byulyi’s hands into her own. _“Just stay with me.”_

Byulyi nodded but remained still, almost paralyzed. Yongsun slipped one hand out of Byulyi’s grasp and placed it on the side of her neck, caressing her cheek with the pad of her thumb.

_“Don’t be afraid. Not now.”_

Her hand moved to Byulyi’s chest and rested there for a moment, feeling the heart that beat just a little too fast and a little too hard; then her fingers began to unbutton Byulyi’s shirt, Byulyi’s chest rising and falling more noticeably as her body tensed up. When the shirt came off, it was as though Yongsun were seeing her for the first time:

_“Byulyi, you’re… beautiful.”_

Byulyi’s eyes shone with a feverish longing that made the blood rush to Yongsun’s cheeks, and when she grasped the front of Yongsun’s blouse, her hands shook just enough that Yongsun had to help her unfasten the troublesome garment, her face so close to Byulyi’s their lips were almost touching. Byulyi’s breath caught when Yongsun’s nakedness was finally revealed and for a moment, she seemed mesmerized by what she saw, her lips parted in speechless admiration.

A kind of liquid heat pooled into the core of her and Yongsun knew that she had never wanted anything—or anyone—as much as she wanted Byuli in this moment. Byulyi seemed to sense this too, wrapping one hand behind Yongsun’s neck and gently pulling her into a kiss while her other hand began undoing Yongsun’s pants. Yongsun’s eyes fluttered and she made a small surprised sound into Byulyi’s mouth as Byulyi’s fingers made their way between her legs, but Byulyi did not let go and soon found the spot that nearly made Yongsun’s knees give. She began to rock her hips, needing to feel more of Byulyi’s hand against the part of her that was already calling out for release, but Byulyi unexpectedly—almost shockingly—pulled her hand out and said:

_“Not like this. I want to feel all of you.”_

She led Yongsun to the bed and the two of them took off the rest of her clothes, Byulyi’s eyes never letting go of Yongsun’s for a moment, as though she feared Yongsun would vanish; then they stood naked, facing each other as if they were looking in a mirror and unsure what to do next. Byulyi found her courage first and approached Yongsun, who joined with her like metal to a magnet, her hands going to Byulyi’s face as their lips and their bodies came together.

Byulyi deepened their kiss, tightening her embrace, and Yongsun wrapped her arms around Byulyi’s back, her desire glowing embers in a gust of breath. Only when she felt the irregular ridges against the palms of her hands did Yongsun remember—too late—the still-healing scars left by the grizzly bear. Byulyi’s body stiffened and Yongsun apologized, but Byulyi gave her a brave smile and said:

_“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just try… not to do that.”_

Yongsun nodded and reached for Byulyi’s face again, gently pulling her into a kiss and down onto the bed. Byulyi lay atop of her and as the weight of her body came down upon her own, Yongsun was brought back to the moment when the two of them had been in the same position; except this time, there was no fear, but a looming sadness at having to lose what she had just found. She pushed the thought away and brought her mind back to the present moment, to Byulyi’s lips on her skin, Byulyi’s slickness on her thigh, Byulyi’s fingers entering her, causing her to draw in a quick, gasping breath of pleasure and pain.

 _“Are you okay?”_ Byulyi asked, her voice husky with desire and filled with concern.

 _“Yes,”_ Yongsun said, not wanting Byulyi to stop. _“I’m more than okay.”_

Byulyi’s fingers began slowly moving back and forth inside of her, then faster as Yongsun’s pleasure built up, her breathing quickening. Soon, the two of them picked up a pace, their bodies moving in unison to a rhythm only they could hear, their hearts beating in time with each other, their breathing a crescendo of soft cries and moans culminating into something Yongsun had never felt before, something violent and freeing and soothing and soft. There was a trembling, which perhaps came from Byulyi and perhaps from herself, then there was stillness and lightness and something so pure, Yongsun could do nothing but hold Byulyi close and sob quietly.

 _“I love you, Byulyi,”_ she said when she could speak again.

Byulyi froze and her breathing stopped for a moment; then it returned in quick short bursts, and Yongsun realized that she was crying too.

_“I’m sorry,”_ Byulyi whispered in her ear sometime later as they lay in each other’s arms.

Yongsun searched her eyes. _“What for?”_

_“For always making a mess of everything.”_

_“Oh, Byulyi.”_ Yongsun caressed her cheek, kissed her lips. _“I’m sorry I wasted what little time we had being angry at you when I was just angry at myself.”_

Byulyi gave her a small, trembling smile, her eyes glistening with barely contained tears. _“I don’t want to die.”_

The fear in Byulyi’s voice was like a stake pushed through Yongsun’s heart. _“You won’t die, Byulyi. I won’t let it happen.”_

Byulyi nodded, a quick, desperate movement filled with trust and terror, her eyes blinking away the tears that came running down her impossibly handsome face, her throat closing and strangling her words:

_“I love you, unnie.”_

Yongsun kissed her forehead and held her close. _“I know.”_

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTES:** Yongsun and Byulyi’s lovemaking scene was written with Woody Jackson’s “The Wheel” (from the _Red Dead Redemption 2_ score <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CFR9U1wcLk>) on repeat, if anyone is interested in reading the scene again with a soundtrack. It also prompted me to go back and rewrite Wheein and Hyejin’s lovemaking scene in the first chapter, because I realized just how embarrassingly cringe-inducing the original version was. Whether I succeeded in actually improving the scene remains to be seen (no pun intended), but I felt that Wheesa and my readers deserved better.

If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	15. The Course of Justice

The two men who approached them—one broad-shouldered and stocky with skin as dark as night, the other pale and skinny with a mop of golden hair—could not have looked more different if they had tried, but something about them told Wheein they could be trusted.

“Are you Miss Johnson’s friends?” the black man asked.

“That, we are,” Wheein replied. “I’m John, and this is my wife Ann.”

“Wendell White.” His huge hand seemed to swallow Wheein’s but his grasp was gentle. “Nice to meet you, and you too, Miss Ann.”

Hyejin shook his hand and said, “Don’t mind her. My name is Hyejin and this is my wife Wheein.”

 _“What are you doing?”_ Wheein asked her, alarmed.

 _“They’re Yongsun unnie’s friends,”_ Hyejin said. _“If she trusts them, then I trust them.”_

The two men were looking at them and at each other in turns, visibly confused.

“So you’s both ladies?” the white man asked. “How’d you get married?”

“We didn’t,” Wheein replied, “but she thinks if she keeps saying that we are, then it’ll happen.”

“Huh, ain't that somethin'?” the white man commented, then added, “I’m Sampson Black, by the way.”

They finished their introductions and made small talk for a while—where they were from, how long they had been in Valentine, how long they had known Miss Johnson—until the topic of Billy Moon was brought up.

“We’ve met Billy, right, love?” Wheein asked Hyejin.

“Sure, we have. Nice fella. How long have you guys known him?”

“Billy? We’ve known ‘im for years,” White said. “Never woulda thought he’d be the one to shoot Hank Stanton dead.”

He obviously believed that she and Hyejin already knew this and Wheein tried hard not to let her shock show, hoping Hyejin would do the same. “People can surprise you when they’re pushed against a wall.”

“I don’t know what got into him,” White continued. “They was just talkin’, then Billy took out a gun and shot Stanton in the head, just like that. Miss Johnson looked spooked too.”

So that was what had happened and why Yongsun had acted so strangely the previous night. That was why she and Byulyi could not go to Saint-Denis with them.

Wheein spoke suddenly. “Well, gentlemen, I don’t mean to rush you, but we should probably get going before there’s any more shooting in this town.”

“This ain’t usually a violent town,” White assured her, “but Miss Johnson wants you safe in Saint-Denis, so we’ll take you to Saint-Denis.”

It took Yongsun and Byulyi an entire day to travel to Saint-Denis, but when they finally got there, Byulyi could hardly believe what she saw. Dark oily waters from which rose a perpetual fog-like miasma surrounded endless rows of buildings of various sizes, shapes and colors that barely left enough room for the narrow paved streets to squeeze through, the air heavy with the constant clatter of horses hooves, carriages and factories belching out their foul black smoke. Everywhere she looked, people were milling about, some strolling along the sidewalks, some crossing the streets, some going about their business while others just stood around or sat idly, reading a newspaper, smoking, or looking at passersby navigating the many crates, barrels and other obstacles barring their way.

 _“Here we are,”_ Yongsun announced, bringing her horse to a stop right in front of the police headquarters.

 _“This is where you used to work?”_ Byulyi asked, her stomach lurching at the thought of what they were about to do.

Yongsun nodded, dismounted to hitch her horse to a nearby post, then headed into the police station, limping slightly from the injury she had sustained the day before. Byulyi followed closely behind, her legs threatening to give out from under her.

Several faces turned their way as they came through the door and it was as though the temperature had suddenly dropped a good twenty degrees. Byulyi thought she might have been the reason for the frosty atmosphere until she realized that all the officers were looking at Yongsun. What she could have done to warrant such hostility, Byulyi did not have the faintest idea, but it was obvious that Kim Yongsun was not a popular woman among her former colleagues.

“What the hell are you doing back here, Johnson?” a man with a vain mustache and an angry scowl called out.

“My job, McLeary,” Yongsun replied as she and Byulyi crossed the lobby and passed a door leading to the cells. “You wouldn’t know what that means.”

“Did you miss us already?” McLeary persisted, standing in her way.

“Not even a little,” Yongsun told him. “Now move.”

He stepped aside, but only just, a smug expression plastered over his face. Yongsun pushed past him and made a beeline for one of the walls to retrieve a set of keys hanging from a hook, then led Byulyi to an empty cell.

“What’s the matter, Johnson?” That was McLeary again. “They don’t have cells back in whatever hick town you came from?”

“Oh, they have cells, all right,” Yongsun said. “They just don’t have judges.”

“Oooh,” McLeary taunted, “brought us a real bad guy, did you?”

Yongsun ignored him and opened the cell, gesturing for Byulyi to go in.

“Now listen to me,” Yongsun told the officers in the room. “If any of you bastards even think of touching this man, I’ll rip your balls off and shove them down your throat until you choke.”

“Listen to her,” McLeary said to his colleagues. “One week in the wild and she’s already gone feral.”

“This goes double for you, McLeary,” Yongsun warned him.

McLeary scoffed. “Why would I even want to look at another Chink, Johnson? Don’t worry about your boyfriend, we won’t touch him.”

Yongsun turned to Byulyi and came as close to her as the bars allowed. _“There’s a lot of things I’ve got to take care of and I won’t be able to see you again before the trial tomorrow. Will you be all right?”_

Byulyi did not think she would be, but put up a brave face. _“I’ll survive.”_

Yongsun swallowed. _“I’ll get you out of this, Byulyi.”_

_“I know, unnie.”_

_“I love you.”_

Happiness and despair wrestled inside of Byulyi’s heart. _“I don’t know the words to say what I feel for you.”_

_“Then repeat after me: I love you.”_

Byulyi smiled in spite of the fear wrenching her gut. _“You already said that.”_

Yongsun scoffed and shook her head. _“I’ll see you tomorrow, you brat.”_

She started to walk away and it felt to Byulyi as though her skin were turning to ice. _“I love you, Kim Yongsun.”_

 _“Took you long enough,”_ Yongsun called over her shoulder before walking out.

For the second time in less than two weeks, Byulyi found herself locked in a cell with nothing to do but hope for Yongsun’s return. This time, however, she had tender memories to warm her heart and keep her company. She could not find it in her to regret what she had done to Hank Stanton, or whatever his name had been, even though she would probably end up paying for her choice with her life.

She saw the man named McLeary approach her cell with a mix of curiosity and derision on his face.

“So, what is it you did, little man? She mad at you ‘cause you went and fucked a whore behind her back? Or is she the whore you fucked and left behind?”

Byulyi made a disgusted face. Was this all men ever thought about? “Didn’t the marshal say not to talk to me?”

“Oh, you no speak English good, huh?” McLeary sneered. “She said not to touch you. Am I touching you, boy?”

“I guess not,” Byulyi replied, approaching the bars to get a closer look at him. “I can tell you want to, though.”

“You bet your ass I do.”

“Interesting choice of words. You like boys, McLeary?”

The policeman flinched and recoiled ever so slightly, taking a step back before arranging his face into a mask of disgust.

“You sick bastard!” he hissed.

Byulyi had to admit that his outrage was pretty convincing, but she had seen the truth in his eyes: the man was terrified. Whether this was because Byulyi had cut too close to the quick with her quip about McLeary liking boys or because Yongsun had something on him, she could not tell, but he was afraid. Like all the other policemen in the room.

Something stank at the Saint-Denis police department, and it wasn’t from cattle manure.

Byulyi shook her head and lay down on her cot, placing her hat over her face to let McLeary know she had no interest in anything else he had to say. She had heard the contempt in Yongsun’s voice when she had spoken to him, and now she knew he wasn’t worth her getting in trouble over. He muttered a vague threat, but Byulyi paid him no mind. She may have been a liar, a thief and a murderer, but she wasn’t hiding behind a badge to cover her crimes.

The rest of the evening went by, then the night. McLeary did not bother her again, nor did any of his colleagues.

Yongsun came early the next morning, dressed in a plain but elegant dress with her hair pinned up neatly, but her beautiful face looking pale and drawn as if she had not slept a wink.

 _“Are you all right?”_ Byulyi asked as Yongsun unlocked the door to her cell.

Yongsun gave her a strained smile. _“Don’t worry about me. Did they give you any food?”_

Byulyi shook her head and Yongsun swore. _“Of course they didn’t, lousy bastards. Did they leave you in peace at least?”_

_“That McLeary guy tried to mess with me, but I put him in his place with a few choice words and he was pretty much an angel after that.”_

Yongsun scoffed. _“An angel, huh? I doubt that very much, but I get what you mean. We’ve got a bit of time before you’re expected to appear in front of the judge, so we could go somewhere for a bite if you’d like.”_

_“It’s all right, unnie, I’m really not hungry.”_

Yongsun gave her a pleading look. _“Byulyi, you haven’t eaten anything since we left Valentine…”_

Byulyi’s stomach was in a knot from nerves, but she also felt strangely full from thinking of Yongsun and hoping for her and being near her, seeing her and hearing her and marveling at her existence. Still, she knew that Yongsun was simply looking out for her and that there would be no harm in eating something.

_“What did you have in mind?”_

Yongsun seemed relieved. _“The Bastille saloon has a nice peach cobbler on the menu, but if that sounds too sweet for you, then you might want to try their gruel. It’s pretty decent.”_

 _“Sounds good,”_ Byulyi said. _“Lead the way.”_

The Bastille was a far cry from anything one could find in Valentine, with its carpet-covered floor and its polished furniture and its patrons dressed in pricey colorful fabrics, covered from head to toe in feathers and gold and gems.

 _“I feel a bit underdressed,”_ Byulyi commented.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Yongsun apologized, _“but there was no time for shopping. The good thing about rich people is that they may not be very good at hiding their contempt for you, but they won’t start anything.”_

 _“What’s it going to be?”_ the friendly barkeeper asked.

 _“I’ve heard good things about your peach cobbler,”_ Byulyi said.

 _“You won’t find a better peach cobbler anywhere from here to New Austin,”_ the barkeeper agreed.

_“Let me give it a try then.”_

_“One peach cobbler coming right up. And for the lady?”_

_“I’ll share with the gentleman,”_ Yongsun replied, for which Byulyi was grateful as she would not need to force herself to eat the whole thing.

The saloon was surprisingly busy considering how early it was, but Byulyi could not blame anyone for wanting to spend time in this place. She would have bet her last dollar that the rooms upstairs had clean sheets on the beds, fancy wallpaper and expensive rugs. When the food came after an impressively short wait, she noticed that the china and silverware were genuine and probably cost more than Byulyi’s house. She picked up her fork and gingerly cut out a piece of the peach, all the while worrying she might break something.

 _“How is it?”_ Yongsun asked.

Byulyi’s eyes widened as she chewed her food, the flavors deliciously filling her mouth. _“It’s really good.”_

Yongsun smiled. _“Told you. And don’t speak with your mouth full.”_

 _“Sorry, Mother,”_ Byulyi said after she had swallowed, cutting another piece of her peach to feed it to Yongsun.

 _“God, don’t bring your mother into this,”_ Yongsun said before taking the food into her mouth.

_“My mother would like you.”_

_“I’m not so sure about that, but thank you for saying it.”_

_“Well, I suppose she wouldn’t like that you’re a woman,”_ Byulyi conceded, _“but you’d grow on her.”_

Yongsun let out a quiet sigh. _“Let’s get you out of this pickle first. Then we can talk about how much your mother would like me.”_

The knot in Byulyi’s stomach twisted again, but she forced herself to eat some more.

 _“Good?”_ Yongsun asked after the two of them had cleaned out Byulyi’s plate.

 _“Good,”_ Byulyi said. _“You look beautiful, unnie.”_

Yongsun seemed taken aback by Byulyi’s sudden compliment, but the words had been burning Byulyi’s tongue since she had laid eyes on her earlier.

 _“I’ve got to mind what I wear in front of the judge,”_ Yongsun explained. _“He wouldn’t like a woman in trousers.”_

_“And there I was thinking you’d dressed up just for me.”_

_“In a manner of speaking, I did. I wouldn’t do what I’m about to do for anyone else.”_

Byulyi covered Yongsun’s hand with her own. _“I know, unnie. Thank you.”_

Yongsun only knew Finneus Caldwell by reputation, and while he was not the most corrupt of judges, he had a history of convicting Indians and women at an alarmingly high rate. She harbored a faint hope that he would make an exception for Billy Moon, but she doubted an Asian man would actually receive special treatment in a murder trial. Yongsun would have to convince the judge that Stuart Horne—Hank Stanton—had been a worse man by far than Billy Moon would ever be, and this was a terrifying thought in its own right because it meant that Byulyi’s fate rested entirely on her shoulders. Why had she ever agreed to this madness? They could have used Byulyi’s five hundred dollars to go back to Korea together. They could have left Billy Moon behind and started over in any other country in the world, where the long arm of the law could not reach them. Instead, she was going to have to play lawyer and pray that Byulyi did not end up at the end of a rope.

The judge sat down and looked at the file Yongsun had meticulously put together, then peered at her from underneath bushy gray eyebrows. “Marshal, you were the one who brought in Billy Moon after his arrest, correct?”

“That is correct, Your Honor.”

“And you’re going to act as the defendant’s counsel in this trial?”

“I am, Your Honor.”

Caldwell looked down at the file. “You’re also cited as a witness. This is highly unusual.”

“I understand that it is, Your Honor, and I appreciate the concession you’re making in this case,” Yongsun said with a respectful bow.

The judge waved her off. “Do you have an objection to this, Mr. Burton?”

The prosecuting attorney, a lanky man with heavily pomaded hair, stood even straighter than he already had been at the mention of his name. “I don’t, Your Honor.”

“In that case, I’m going to proceed and read the charges against the defendant. Billy Moon, you are accused of the murder of one Hank Stanton, also known as Stuart Horne, on Sunday, June 5, 1898. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Yongsun answered.

“Marshal, need I remind you that you made an official statement in which you declared having witnessed the shooting of Mr. Stanton by Mr. Moon?”

“And I maintain my statement, Your Honor, as well as my plea.”

The judge shook his head. “You better not be wasting my time, Miss Johnson.”

“I assure you I’m not, Your Honor.”

The judge let out an annoyed huff. “Proceed, Mr. Burton.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I’d like to call Marshal Kim Johnson to witness.”

Yongsun drew in a deep breath to calm her nerves and walked up to the stand, then promised to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help her God. With the formalities out of the way, Edwin Burton was now ready to serve the judge what he no doubt thought would be an open-and-shut case, what with all three cited witnesses—the barkeeper Clayton Hanley, the prostitute Annabelle Lee, and Yongsun herself—ready to testify under oath that they had all seen Billy Moon shoot Hank Stanton in the head. Burton arranged his jacket and slicked back his hair before approaching the stand, every one of his gestures rife with a nervous energy Yongsun had often seen in regular cocaine users.

“Miss Johnson,” he began, “why don’t you tell us what happened on the evening of June 5?”

“Mr. Moon and I had just returned from hunting down a gang of dangerous criminals who had attacked and kidnapped a couple of ranchers living near Valentine. Since he owed Hank Stanton some money, Billy—Mr. Moon—decided to use part of the bounty reward to pay off his debt and I decided to tag along to make sure everything went smoothly.”

“Were you expecting trouble?” Burton asked.

“Very much so,” Yongsun confirmed, “since the deceased, Mr. Stanton, had hired a group of men to murder both Mr. Moon and myself in cold blood. They probably would have succeeded if Mr. Moon had not come up with a way to peacefully resolve the matter.”

“What did he do?”

“He gave them half the bounty money he had just been paid, his Schofield revolver and my tin star.”

The judge was surprised by this revelation. “Your tin star? You gave a bunch of hired guns your tin star, marshal? Why, so they could go around pretending to be lawmen?”

“No, Your Honor, so Hank Stanton would believe Mr. Moon and I were dead.”

“And claim whatever reward the deceased had promised them,” the judge guessed. “Quite the swindle, marshal.”

“What these men did or did not do after we parted ways was not my concern. All I cared about was to get the ranchers and Mr. Moon back to Valentine in one piece.”

“How did you know these men were hired by the deceased?” Caldwell asked.

“Mr. Stanton had threatened to do so when Mr. Moon failed to pay off his debt in a timely manner, and the men he hired more or less confirmed it when we confronted them.”

“More or less, marshal?” the judge said in a dubious tone.

“They told us they’d been hired to kill us and didn’t deny the allegations when Mr. Moon claimed that Mr. Stanton was their employer.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” the judge argued.

“True,” Yongsun conceded, “but Mr. Stanton did express his surprise when he saw that both Mr. Moon and I were alive and well.”

“Still doesn’t prove anything,” Caldwell insisted, “but I’ll admit it doesn’t make Mr. Stanton look good.”

Yongsun knew she had just scored a small victory in casting doubt over Stanton’s character. Now if she could make Byulyi look like a hero in the judge’s eyes, she just might have a shot at pulling this off.

“Go on, Mr. Burton,” Caldwell ordered. “Sorry for the interruption.”

“Not at all, Your Honor,” Burton said. “So Miss Johnson, you and Mr. Moon decided to meet with Mr. Stanton with the sole intent of paying off Mr. Moon’s debt, is that correct?”

“That is correct. I should also mention that Mr. Moon was unarmed when we entered the saloon where we found Mr. Stanton.”

“Then what happened? How did Mr. Stanton end up getting shot by Mr. Moon?”

“Mr. Moon used Mr. Stanton’s own handgun after Mr. Stanton made some allusions to a crime he’d attempted to commit against me and was threatening to finish.”

“A crime?” the judge interjected. “Against you? Please elaborate, Miss Johnson.”

“This was when I knew him as Stuart Horne,” Yongsun explained. “He tried to force himself on me when I refused his marriage proposal. To this day, I’m not even sure how I managed to get away from him, so when he started talking about finishing what he’d started a few years back, I got a little concerned, to say the least. And so did Mr. Moon, which is why he stepped in to protect me, as he had done earlier that day with the hired guns, as he did when a bear attacked us a week ago. He even ran into a burning house so I wouldn’t have to, because he thought there were still people inside.”

“How very chivalrous of him,” Burton commented in a sarcastic tone. “But tell us, Miss Johnson, why was Mr. Moon helping you hunt down a gang of criminals? Is he your deputy?”

This would be a sticky point and Yongsun felt another pang of guilt at her own lack of judgment. “I should’ve sworn him in once we decided to go after the Skinner Brothers and rescue the ranchers they’d kidnapped. I should’ve but I didn’t because I’d only known Mr. Moon for a short time and wasn’t sure he would measure up. That was my mistake. Mr. Moon was only trying to help me.”

“And yet, he murdered a man in cold blood,” Burton remarked.

“It wasn’t in cold blood, Mr. Burton,” Yongsun corrected, “As I said, Mr. Moon didn’t walk into that saloon with the intent of murdering a man, but meaning to pay off a debt. He had no idea I knew Mr. Stanton because I didn’t even know that until I saw him. Mr. Moon shot Mr. Stanton because he felt I was in danger. He didn’t murder a man: he protected an officer of the law.”

“You couldn’t have protected yourself?” Burton asked. “Aren’t you a fearsome marshal?

“I don’t know about fearsome, but I was shocked when I realized that Hank Stanton was the man I had known as Stuart Horne. A man I had chased for years and who kept eluding me and evading justice. He was a coward, a bully and a cheat, but more importantly, he was one of the biggest criminals I’ve ever come across.”

“Your Honor, I’d like this part of the testimony to be struck from the record,” Burton objected. “We’re not here to judge a dead man.”

“Objection overruled, Mr. Burton. These are aggravating circumstances that can explain the defendant’s actions. The deceased did attack an officer of the law, after all.”

“Your Honor, if I may,” Yongsun said. “I wasn’t an officer of the law when the deceased attacked me, but the attack was the reason I became one. He did threaten a marshal, that much is true, and since he’d already attacked me once, there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t do the same again. That’s why Mr. Moon felt he needed to intervene. He’s not a murderer who should be hanged but a brave man who should be commended.”

“Are you trying to tell me what my decision on the matter should be, marshal?” the judge asked.

“No, Your Honor,” Yongsun replied. “I was merely stating an opinion.”

“When I want your opinion,” Caldwell said, “I’ll ask for it.”

Yongsun lowered her eyes. “Yes, Your Honor. Apologies.”

The judge glowered at her, then addressed the prosecuting attorney, “Do you have any more questions for the witness, Mr. Burton?”

“I don’t believe I do, Your Honor.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a no, Your Honor.”

“Then the witness is excused.”

Yongsun walked back to her seat on wooden legs, feeling Byulyi’s eyes on her yet unable to meet them. She had failed again. Things had been going well, but her plan had backfired and she had upset the judge. There was no way he was going to let Billy Moon off the hook after this.

Next came the testimonies of Annabelle Lee and Clayton Hanley, who both confirmed Yongsun’s version of the event, with Annabelle mentioning how she “didn’t think Billy had it in ‘im” and Hanley calling Stanton “a creepy bastard who got what was coming to him”.

The judge then ordered a break and promised to return with a verdict soon. This, Yongsun knew, could only mean one thing: he had already made up his mind and was simply making sure he had not missed anything. The knot in her stomach tightened.

“You did well, unnie,” Byulyi said.

Yongsun forced herself to smile. “I’m glad you feel this way.”

“You don’t think it went well?” Byulyi asked with a look of concern.

“I don’t know, Byulyi, it’s hard to tell with judges. Sometimes, you think they’ll rule one way and they swing the other way. Let’s just hope I managed to convince him.”

Byulyi touched her hand. “Unnie, thank you for doing this.”

The trust and sincerity in Byulyi’s eyes made it hard for Yongsun to breathe, and she had to stop herself from kissing Byulyi right there and then. “I must be crazy for agreeing to it, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

They did not speak again until the judge returned, the room growing quiet as a tomb. Yongsun, Byulyi and Edwin Burton rose.

“Billy Moon,” Caldwell began, “you stand here accused of the murder of an American citizen. A man who was by no mean a model citizen, but a citizen nonetheless. You, however, are not a citizen of the United States and do not have the privilege of taking another man’s life in defense of your country or your property. You also did not have the proper authority to take the law into your own hands and deliver justice in the manner you did. This is why the justice system exists, Mr. Moon, and why I cannot condone what you did, even if it was in defense of a representative of the law. Consequently, I sentence you to death by hanging, with your execution to be carried out at noon sharp on the morrow.”

The judge struck his gavel, crushing Yongsun’s hopes and sealing Byulyi’s fate.

* * *

  
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	16. Farewell, Billy Moon

They had to wait until nighttime for transport to arrive, but the tumbleweed wagon marked “U.S. Marshal Lemoyne Territory” finally arrived with the policeman named McLeary looking as though he would have preferred having nails driven through his own toes than being on prisoner transport duty.

“You awake, McLeary?” Yongsun asked.

“You still a pain in my arse, Johnson?”

“Tut, tut, language,” Yongsun retorted. “There are ladies around.”

“The only lady I see here is this flower boy of yours.” McLeary turned to Byulyi. “You gonna get your neck stretched, boy?”

 _“Ignore him,”_ Yongsun said, leading her to the back of the wagon.

“I hear the Valentine sheriff ain’t doing so well these days,” McLeary taunted from the front.

Byulyi climbed into the cage, allowing Yongsun to help her since it gave them an opportunity to touch one last time without appearing suspicious. Yongsun’s eyes told Byulyi to be brave and her lips silently mouthed _“I love you”_. To McLeary, she said, “He trusted the wrong people.”

McLeary snorted. “That much is obvious. I mean, he trusted you, right?”

“I didn’t kill him,” Yongsun said, closing the wagon’s door and locking it. “One of his deputies did.”

“Yeah, that’s what you say.”

“Because it’s the truth. And you know what else is true? You’re drunk, as usual.”

“Oh, blow me, Johnson.”

“I’d rather blow my own brains out,” Yongsun replied as she headed to the front of the wagon and out of Byulyi’s sight.

“That’ll be the day!” McLeary exclaimed. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing? I ain’t letting no woman drive me around.”

“And I’m not putting my life and that of my prisoner into the hands of a drunk,” Yongsun shot back, “so if you don’t like my driving, you can walk. Now move over.”

Byulyi heard the policeman mumble a retort, then felt the wagon tilt, presumably as he changed seat and Yongsun climbed in next to him.

“Listen to me, McLeary,” Yongsun warned, “I may have gotten your whiskey-soaked hide out of of a pickle once, but I won’t do it again. We get in trouble, you’re on your own. The only thing that matters to me is getting that prisoner back there to Valentine in one piece.”

“You worry about that prisoner a whole lot, Johnson. You sure you don’t got the hots for ‘im?”

Byulyi could hear the jeering note in his voice, her own blood beginning to boil. She reminded herself that she had to stay calm for Yongsun’s sake and swallowed back the cutting words that were prickling her tongue.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” McLeary persisted. “I mean, there ain’t too many fellas would sleep with a Chink, so must be a long time since you had a man.”

Byulyi drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying her best to keep her temper in check.

“First of all,” Yongsun said, “I’m not Chinese, and second of all, you don’t know anything, so do us all a favor and keep your mouth shut.”

McLeary snickered. “Hit a sore spot, did I?”

“Yes, you did,” Yongsun replied. “My ears. And your breath doesn’t do my nose much good either.”

Byulyi could not hold back a laughter and slapped her hands across her mouth to muffle it.

“What’s so funny back there?” she heard McLeary ask. “This is amusing to you? Want me to go back there and show you how funny _I_ can be?”

“McLeary, you threaten my prisoner again and I swear to everything I hold dear, I’ll kick you off this wagon,” Yongsun promised.

“Get off you high horses, Johnson, I was just joking,” McLeary said in a tone that was oddly defiant and submissive at once.

Yongsun made no reply and they rode in silence for what felt like an hour to Byulyi. As they were about to cross into New Hanover territory, the wagon suddenly came to a stop and Byulyi heard Yongsun call out:

“US Marshal, get out of the way, gentlemen. And kindly put those guns down before someone gets hurt.”

“The only people gettin’ hurt are you and the officer next to you if you don’t hand over your prisoner, lady.”

“What do you want with him?” Yongsun asked.

“He killed some people we knew.”

“And he’s just been sentenced to hang, so you’ll get your justice. Now I’ll say it one more time: let us through, or you’ll all end up in a box.”

“Johnson, are you crazy?” McLeary blurted out. “I ain’t getting killed for no Chink! They can have the damned flower boy for all I care! Now don’t nobody shoot, I’m gonna get the prisoner!”

“Don’t you dare, McLeary,” Yongsun warned.

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me? Then you get shot by these four fellas over there and they still get the prisoner. Don’t be an idiot.”

There was a moment of tense silence and Byulyi held her breath, her heart in her mouth.

“Fine,” Yongsun said at last, “but you won’t get away with this, mark my words.”

There was a tremor in Yongsun’s voice that made Byulyi break into a cold sweat. Why was she so afraid?

It did not take long for her to find out, as McLeary unlocked the door to let her out and handed her over to a group of men bearing torches, their white hoods and white robes giving them a ghostlike appearance. Byulyi knew right there and then that she was in serious trouble.

She had heard of a group of white men who called themselves the Ku Klux Klan and harbored a hatred for anyone whose skin was the wrong color or whose eyes were the wrong shape. She had believed, foolishly perhaps, that those had been made-up stories, but could now see that she had been dead wrong. And the fear that gripped her in that moment was like nothing she had ever felt in her life.

The largest of the group ordered McLeary to take the handcuffs off of her, which he did without a word of protest, then told Byulyi to climb behind him.

“Don’t try anything funny, little man,” he warned Byulyi over his shoulder, his voice muffled by his hood.

“Now if you try to follow us,” another hooded thug said to Yongsun and McLeary, “or we see you riding up on us, we’ll kill him. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, it is,” McLeary replied, sounding almost gleeful.

Yongsun only nodded, locking eyes with Byulyi, who kept Yongsun in her sight as the hooded thugs rode away until the moment she could see her no more.

“Where are you taking me?” Byulyi asked when she realized that they were headed back to Saint-Denis.

“You’ll see,” the man she was riding with said.

They reached the marshy grounds near Saint-Denis and Byulyi had a horrifying thought: they would shoot her in the swamp and feed her body to the alligators so that no one, not even Yongsun, could find her. She briefly considered jumping off the horse and making a run for it, but quickly ruled that idea out when she remembered that the flat waterlogged ground would make her escape impossible, slowing her down and giving her pursuer a trail to follow if the squelching sound of her footsteps didn’t give her away first.

As they entered Saint-Denis and made their way to the port, Byulyi understood that she had been mistaken. They had no intention of shooting her—that would have been too quick and painless a death for Billy Moon, killer of Skinner Brothers—but they would drown her instead, drawing it out as long as possible so she would wish for them to end the torture. Perhaps they would then hide her body into a crate that would be loaded onto a ship and she would only be found in a faraway land once the smell of her decomposing body became too strong to ignore; or perhaps they would just leave her to drift away until someone—maybe Yongsun—found her floating in filthy oily water…

They arrived at the docks and ordered Byulyi to dismount, then led her at gunpoint to a lower-level platform that was so close to the water, their feet made splashing sounds as they walked. They then entered a tunnel, their torches throwing sinister, flickering shadows all over the walls and ground, their footsteps echoing eerily in such a way that Byulyi became convinced they were being followed.

“Okay, that’s far enough,” one of them suddenly said. “There’s nothing else but rats and bones past that point. Turn around, Billy.”

Byulyi did as she was told and the four klansmen removed their hoods to reveal their faces. To her utter astonishment, Byulyi saw that not all of them were men, and that all of them were known to her.

“We won’t be needing those no more,” Wendell White said with a wide grin, his teeth glistening in the torches’ light.

“I thought I was going to pass out from the heat with that hood,” Hyejin commented.

“ _Unnie_ , aren’t you going to say hello?” Wheein asked, the shadows on her face making her dimple look even deeper than it was.

“What…? H-how?” Byulyi stammered.

“Hell-ooo,” Sampson Black humored her, drawing out each syllable as if he were teaching a small child to speak. “Just like that, try it.”

“Hello, Sampson,” Byulyi greeted him with a smile. “It’s good to see you. All of you.”

“You owe us a solid one, Billy Moon,” Sampson noted. “But we owed your lady one, too.”

“You mean, Yongsun knows about this?” Byulyi asked.

“If you’re talking about Miss Johnson,” Sampson said, “then the answer is yes. She planned the whole thing.”

Byulyi’s mouth fell open. “Kim Yongsun got you all to do something illegal?”

Wheein approached her. “The way Yongsun unnie sees it, the law failed all of us in one way or another and she’s no longer going to be part of a system that protects the rich and powerful, and condemns the poor and powerless. We all agreed that helping her save your life was the right thing to do, even if it’s not the legal one.”

“I’m glad you all feel this way,” Byulyi said, relieved to know she would not have to hide from Yongsun or lie to her about their friends’ involvement in her escape. “What do we do now?”

 _“There’s a ship that’s headed for Korea,”_ Hyejin explained. _“Unnie secured passage for you.”_

This came as an unpleasant surprise to Byulyi. _“Korea? I can’t go back to Korea.”_

 _“Yes, you can,”_ Wheein assured her. _“Your father’s debt’s been paid off. No one’s going to come after you. Your family’s going to join you as soon as unnie can find them.”_

The thought of reuniting with her family was a bitter-sweet one. On the one hand, Byulyi could not wait to see her mother and sisters again. On the other hand, this meant that she would have to leave Yongsun behind, and the people who had proven themselves a better family to her than her own flesh and blood had ever been.

 _“How did she pull this off?”_ Byulyi asked.

 _“Yongsun unnie has a rich and powerful friend of her own,”_ Wheein answered. _“One who owed her his life. I reckon they’re even now.”_

Hyejin handed her a pile of carefully folded clothes. _“She also got you these. They’re not the latest style, but you won’t stand out so much when you arrive in Korea. We’ll make sure your old clothes disappear.”_

 _“Should I change… now?”_ Byulyi asked.

 _“Yeah, you should,”_ Hyejin said.

“Okay…” Byulyi looked around for a place that would give her some privacy, but there was none. “Gentlemen, would you mind looking away?”

“Uh, sure, Billy,” Wendell said, surprised by his friend’s modesty. “Sorry.”

The two men turned away from her and Byulyi considered the fact that she was still lying to them, even after what they had done for her.

“Wendell, Sampson,” she began, “I have a confession to make.”

“Can we… turn around?” Sampson asked.

Byulyi told them they could. “My name isn’t Billy. It’s Byulyi, and it’s a girl’s name.”

Wendell nodded, looking as though this revelation came as no surprise to him. “I figured you might be a girl when Wheein here told us she weren’t a boy either. Didn’t I tell ya, Sampson?”

“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” Sampson admitted, “but he kept pointing things out that were a bit off about you. I mean, what do I know about people from Korea, or China? Y’all look the same to me!”

They laughed, and Byulyi teased: “I’d say the same thing about you, except you two look nothing alike! It’s very convenient. Now look away, you dirty dogs.”

The two men did as they were told, chuckling good-naturedly, and Byulyi quickly changed into her new clothes. Once again, Yongsun had picked their size perfectly and, even though they were rather plain-looking, they fitted Byulyi like they had been made for her.

“What do you think?” Byulyi asked.

“No one’s going to look at you twice,” Hyejin commented.

“It’s perfect,” Wheein agreed.

“What now?” Byulyi asked.

“Your ship is waiting nearby, ready to raise anchor,” Wheein explained. “Mr. White has agreed to take you to it, seeing he’s the strongest of us and can row faster.”

“Also I’m harder to spot at night,” Wendell pointed out, “what with my dark skin and all.”

“I’m guessing you’ve got a boat stashed somewhere?”

“How’d you know?” Wendell humored her.

“Call it a hunch,” Byulyi said, then to Wheein asked, _“Is Yongsun unnie not coming, then?”_

Wheein shook her head. _“She’s got to play her part, placate her colleagues and make sure none of them get wise. She told me to tell you that she’ll send word when it’s safe for you to return.”_

Byulyi gave her and Hyejin a long hug. _“Thank you both for what you’ve done.”_

 _“You would’ve done the same for us, unnie,”_ Hyejin said.

Byulyi nodded, then turned to Sampson and Wendell. “I owe you two more than I can ever repay, but I hope you’ll still accept what I can give you for now. Hyejinie, would you mind handing them what’s in the right front pocket of my old shirt?”

Hyejin did as she was asked and Byulyi explained to the two astonished men:

“This is the money I owed Stanton. He won’t be needing it anymore, so I want you to have it.”

Sampson took the five hundred dollars with some hesitation, as though he thought it might be a trick, then gave half of it to Wendell, exactly like Wheein had done with Hyejin the previous day.

“That sure is a stroke of luck I didn’t expect,” Wendell said, pocketing the money. “You didn’t have to, Billy. I mean, Byulyi.”

“What am I gonna do with American dollars in Korea? Better you have it. And call me Billy, it’s easier.”

Wendell laughed. “Yeah, I butchered that one, huh? But all that aside, we should probably get going. That ship won’t be waiting forever.”

Byulyi gave Wheein and Hyejin another quick hug, shook Sampson’s hand, then said to Wendell, “Ready when you are, Mr. White.”

She followed him out of the tunnel and along a half-flooded platform at the end of which, sure enough, was a perfectly serviceable rowboat. As they glided over the ink-black surface, silent except for the regular splash of the oars hitting the water, Byulyi could just make out the shape of a ship as they got closer and closer. The ship that would take her home.

Except it would no longer feel like home, even with her family there, because a part of her would remain here, with Yongsun.

And she knew that someday, she would return.

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTE:** If you've enjoyed this story so far, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and see you again soon!


	17. The Way Home

As the music carried their harmonies to a close—Wheein’s voice soaring as she hit each note as surely as her arrows did their mark, Hyejin looking as though she belonged nowhere else while all eyes in the room followed her every move—Yongsun nearly forgot the words she had to sing when she caught sight of a face she had only seen in her dreams for the past six years. It was a glimpse, really, so brief it might have been a trick of her mind; but it was enough for the ache in her heart to surface again and for the voice in her head to call out the name she had not dared speak since that fateful day in the summer of 1898.

Yongsun was able to mumble her way to the end of the song, earning questioning looks from both Wheein and Hyejin. The crowd, however, did not seem to notice or care, their applause and delighted cheers as warm and enthusiastic as ever as they called for a fourth encore. The three of them made their way to the backstage area, waving and bowing and blowing kisses in the air, Yongsun inviting the audience to return the next day for a repeat performance of their biggest hits.

“Well done, ladies, well done,” a rotund woman with a mass of red curls, a freckled nose and clever brown eyes said with a lilt typical of the British Isles, her arms full of flowers and gifts that she distributed fairly equally among Yongsun, Wheein and Hyejin. “Oh, and Yongsun dear, there’s gentleman who’d fancy meeting you. Should I send him in?”

Yongsun immediately thought of the face she had seen in the crowd, her heart latching onto that glimmer of hope. “Yes, Miss Gleason, please do.”

Brenda Gleason, owner of the Saint-Denis Music Hall Theater, nodded and excused herself, her plump lips curled into an obliging smile.

Wheein, who was removing her stage make-up, stopped what she was doing. _“A gentleman? Do you think it might be Byulyi unnie?”_

 _“That would explain why you messed up the ending of our last song,”_ Hyejin remarked after wiping off her lipstick.

 _“I thought I noticed someone who looked like her,”_ Yongsun admitted, _“but I don’t know if I can trust my own eyes. I seem to see her everywhere these days.”_

 _“You just miss her,”_ Hyejin said. _“We all do, but Wheein and I have each other.”_

 _“I’ve missed her for six years,”_ Yongsun reflected, wondering what was taking this gentleman so long. _“I think I’m finally losing my mind.”_

 _“Unnie, don’t speak like that,”_ Wheein said. _“Didn’t you send word for her weeks ago? Of course you’re expecting some sign from her. Who wouldn’t?”_

A thought suddenly struck Yongsun. _“What if she’s forgotten about me?_ _What if she’s found someone else and moved on?”_

Hyejin moved away from the mirror and approached her older sister, placing a comforting hand on her arm. _“This is the kind of talk that’ll make you lose your mind. Have some faith in her.”_

 _“She killed a man for you,”_ Wheein reminded her. _“Got shot at, got mauled by a bear, jumped into a fire, even tried to rob a bank, for heaven’s sake, all because she wanted to protect you. You really think she could just forget about you and move on if she wanted to?”_

Yongsun had to admit that Wheein had a point, but simply said, _“Life is full of surprises. Cruel ones, too.”_

The door to the dressing room opened and Brenda came back in. “Miss Kim, this is John Marston, the gentleman I mentioned a moment ago.”

The man who appeared in front of Yongsun, while not much taller than Byulyi, looked nothing like her. His face, which might have been handsome at some point, was covered with dark stubble and bore deep, ugly scars that could only have been left by a particularly ferocious animal. His shoulder-length hair was unkempt and greasy-looking, and his clothes, from his Cattleman hat and sleeveless denim jacket to his pin-striped rancher pants and leather roper boots, were all dusty and worn out. He was clearly not the kind of man who was in the habit of hanging out at theaters, which made his presence all the more puzzling to Yongsun. He shifted from one foot to the other, visibly uncomfortable, then took off his hat with one hand and, with the other, presented a large bouquet of flowers to which an elegant note was attached.

“Miss Kim,” he said, his voice as rough as his appearance. “As you can see, I’m no gentleman, but there was one right in front of the theater who asked me to give you these.”

Yongsun took the flowers, her eyes inexorably drawn to the note before they shot back up to look at the stranger. “Did the gentleman mention his name, by any chance?”

“He didn’t,” Marston replied in an apologetic tone, “but he said the note would tell you everything you need to know. And he paid me, good money too. Looked like he had enough to buy a ticket for the show, so I don’t know why he wouldn’t come in and give you the flowers himself. I’m guessin’ he was shy.”

“You’re probably right,” Yongsun agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, which was all she could do not to rip the note off the bouquet and read it right there and then. “Thank you for the trouble, Mr. Marston.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Marston assured her, “but I should probably get going before somebody mistakes me for a bum and throws me out. Good luck with your secret admirer.”

He put his hat back on and pinched the brim with his forefinger and thumb, tilting his head as he did so, before exiting the dressing room. Yongsun snatched the note and opened it with trembling fingers, her heartbeat quickening at the sight of the Korean characters:

_Meet me at the Bastille saloon._

_I’ll be waiting forever._

_MB_

There was also an old newspaper article from the Saint Denis Times, dated 8 June, 1898:

ORIENTAL MAN KILLED BY KLANSMEN

The body of Billy Moon, a 22-year-old Oriental man set to hang for the murder of a prominent Valentine resident, was found in the Lannahechee River near Saint-Denis yesterday. Moon had been kidnapped by a group of men believed to be members of the Ku Klux Klan as he was being transported to the gallows. Thomas McLeary, an officer with the Saint Denis Police Department, revealed that a large group of men wearing white robes and hoods ambushed the wagon he was driving and forced him to hand over Moon, adding that, “it sounded like he had killed some people they knew, and they wanted revenge.”

Officials will not seek to bring the Klansmen to justice, as Moon had already been sentenced to death and was not an American citizen.

It was the article she had sent Byulyi several weeks before.

 _“She’s here,”_ Yongsun said. _“Byulyi’s back.”_

Hyejin gave her a warm smile. _“Unnie, that’s wonderful.”_

 _“What are you going to do?”_ Wheein asked.

 _“I’m going to meet her,”_ Yongsun replied, _“and God help anyone who gets in my way.”_

She caught sight of herself in a mirror and froze in sudden horror. _“I can’t meet her looking like this!”_

 _“What?”_ Hyejin took a closer look at her. _“Why not?”_

_“All this make-up and those clothes… She’ll think I’ve become a harlot!”_

Hyejin laughed and asked Wheein to give her a hand. _“Don’t worry, unnie, we’ll make you look presentable.”_

To the casual observer, the three of them would have appeared to be moments away from going on stage, frantically picking outfits, applying make-up and coiffing their hair; but soon, the dressing room grew quiet again and what Yongsun saw in the mirror pleased her much more.

 _“How do I look?”_ she asked, endlessly amazed by her younger sisters’ boundless talents.

 _“The only way Byulyi unnie won’t be impressed is if she’s gone blind,”_ Hyejin commented.

 _“You look beautiful, unnie,”_ Wheein agreed.

Yongsun gave them a quick hug and thanked them both, then nearly flew out of the theater and right into the path of an incoming carriage.

“Whoa, there, lady!” the carriage driver called out. “Watch where yer goin’ or you’ll get yerself killed!”

“Would you take me to the Bastille saloon, sir?” Yongsun pleaded. “It’s urgent that I get there as quickly as possible!”

“Then get your own driver!”

“Please, sir, I can pay!”

The driver gave her an annoyed look, then grumbled, “Fine, I’ll drive you, but only because I don’t want a fine-looking lady like yerself runnin’ around on the street.”

“Thank you, sir, truly,” Yongsun said as she climbed into the seat next to him.

They reached the Bastille minutes later, although it felt like forever to Yongsun. She handed the driver the first paper bill she could pull out of her purse and climbed out of the carriage.

The driver’s eyes went wide. “That’s too much, lady, I can’t take that!”

“Please, do,” Yongsun insisted, “for your trouble.”

The driver chuckled and pocketed the money. “Trouble like you, I’ll welcome any day. You have a good one, ma’am.”

Yongsun bowed her head slightly as he rode off, then walked toward the saloon, pausing at the door to calm her racing heart. She closed her eyes, slowly breathed in and out, then pushed the door open.

The inside of the Bastille had not much changed in the six years since she and Byulyi had last been here. The decor was the same, and while the faces were different, the clothes were just as fancy as they had been then. But that did not matter at all to Yongsun, because all she could see was the woman leaning against the balustrade near the piano. She wore an expensive-looking black suit with a snow-white shirt and a blood-colored tie, and had grown thinner, almost painfully so. Her hair was longer, too, but was now a silver shade that made her look mysterious rather than aged. She seemed absorbed by the piano player’s enthusiastic performance, but her eyes soon moved away from him and immediately found Yongsun. Her lips parted and she stood straighter, but remained still otherwise.

Yongsun wanted to run to her, to call out her name, to shout out that her one true love had come back to her, yet something, perhaps the six years that had kept them apart, held her back. The two of them simply stood staring at each other from across the room, then Byulyi’s lopsided smile appeared and she winked. Yongsun felt the blood rush to her face—not unlike the first time she had met Byulyi—her eyes darting left and right to see whether anyone had noticed. Byulyi chuckled quietly and headed up the stairs, eyes beckoning her to follow.

Yet Yongsun was rooted to the spot, panic-stricken. What if Byulyi had found someone else? What if she had simply fallen out of love? What if the years had eroded their feelings and had left nothing but fond memories? What if they had lost what they had once had?

Her eyes went to the piano player and she watched him for a while, her mind immediately going back to the day when she had performed for Byulyi. She had wanted to make an impression, of course, but she had also hoped to be seen as more than a law woman. Perhaps this was the moment when she had started questioning the choices she had made, even if she did not realize it at the moment.

She was now faced with another choice: head upstairs and find out whether she had a future with Byulyi, or run away and go on living with her memories. She could tell Wheein and Hyejin that she had been mistaken, that it had not been Byulyi at all but an admirer who had been trying a little too hard to get her attention…

Was this the kind of person she had become? A coward and a liar? Would she spend the rest of her days remembering the past because she was too afraid of what the future had in store? Could the truth be worse than a lifetime of regrets?

Byulyi had come all the way from Korea to see her with nothing more than the Saint Denis Times article and a short note Yongsun had agonized over for hours: _“Come home. Your sisters await.”_

Five words. No _“Love,”_ no _“Yours still and forever,”_ and no signature. Even kings were less terse in their summons, yet Byulyi had come, without questions or hesitation.

Yongsun went up to the bar and asked for two glasses of champagne.

“Should I have the bottle brought up?” the bartender asked.

She remembered him from six years ago, and aside from a few more gray hairs, he had not changed much at all either. “Save it for later. We’ll come down to pick it up.”

“Sure thing,” the bartender said, pouring the sparkling liquid into two expensive-looking glasses before putting the bottle away.

Yongsun paid for the champagne and took the glasses by the stems, then carefully made her way up the stairs while trying her best not to bump into anyone going up or down. When she finally made it to the second floor, it took less than an instant for her to find Byulyi, whose eyes were already on her. They both smiled at the same time and Yongsun approached, handing Byulyi one of the glasses.

 _“Hello, stranger,”_ Yongsun greeted her.

 _“I thought I’d scared you off for a minute here,”_ Byulyi admitted. _“You look… too good for words.”_

_“You look quite stunning yourself. Is this the new fashion in Korea?”_

_“In some circles, yes. Mostly rich men with a taste for the exotic styles of the West.”_

Yongsun gave her a teasing grin. _“Does that mean you’re a rich man now?”_

Byulyi chuckled. _“I’ve done well enough for myself making clothes like these for rich men, but I’m all woman through and through.”_

_“So you’ve stopped gambling?”_

_“One could say that the fashion industry is a gamble in and of itself, but yes, I’ve given up all games of chance for good. Thought I’d pushed my luck enough as it was.”_

_“You’ve grown wise,”_ Yongsun said. _“Is that how you got this hair color, or is it also a trending style in Korea?”_

Byulyi’s smile was wistful this time. _“That was just life without you.”_

The words sank painfully into Yongsun’s heart. So much time had gone by, and Byulyi had had to bear the weight of the years on her own. Yongsun had thought that being near her family might ease Byulyi’s burden, but she had been wrong.

 _“I’m… sorry,”_ was all she could say.

_“What for? Saving my life? Giving my family yet another chance to start over?”_

_“For all the time that’s gone by,”_ Yongsun replied. _“I was going to wait ten years, but I ran out of patience.”_

_“I’m glad you did.”_

They took a sip of their champagne, eyes locked, and Yongsun could feel the same magnetic pull she had the first time they had met.

 _“I wish there weren’t so many people around,”_ Yongsun admitted.

_“I took the liberty of renting a room, just in case.”_

_“Good thinking. Lead the way.”_

Like the champagne and everything else at the Bastille, the room was of irreproachable taste and quality. Varnished floor, expensive rug, fancy bed linen and not an inch of peeling wallpaper in sight.

 _“That room couldn’t have been cheap,”_ Yongsun commented.

 _“You deserve it,”_ Byulyi said, _“and I can afford it now.”_

Yongsun approached and ran her fingers over the lapels of Byulyi’s jacket as if she were inspecting the quality of its fabric, when she only wanted a reason to touch Byulyi. _“I’m really happy you were able to turn your life around.”_

_“I was just trying to keep myself busy so I didn’t have to think about how much I missed you.”_

_“A lot of people would have turned to drinking or gambling or whoring in your place,”_ Yongsun said, brushing a strand of hair out of Byulyi’s face. _“Billy would have.”_

 _“I wouldn’t have come within spitting distance of a whore before I met you,”_ Byulyi assured her. _“There was no way I was going to even look at one after that.”_

_“Good. So I won’t need to gouge your eyes out, then.”_

Byulyi’s eyebrows raised in surprise. _“Do what now?”_

Yongsun smiled. _“I’ve missed you too. Terribly.”_

 _“You must have had a number of admirers,”_ Byulyi guessed. _“I’ve seen the posters. You, Wheein and Hyejin, doing the music hall?”_

 _“I suppose there were a few,”_ Yongsun admitted. _“But it didn’t matter because I already belonged to another.”_

Something came over Byulyi upon hearing those words, as though she had been holding her breath and was finally letting it out. Her hand came up to Yongsun’s face, her thumb gently caressing her cheek before their lips finally came together. This time it was Yongsun who felt like she could breathe again and, as Byulyi’s arms pulled her close, she knew she had found the only place she never wanted to leave.

 _“My Byulyi,”_ she whispered as she tightened their embrace. _“My star. Welcome home.”_

THE END

* * *

  
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	18. Epilogue

Doyle’s Tavern was a seedy little bar near the Saint Denis general store known for its cheap drinks and its varmint. It was also Officer Thomas McLeary’s favorite dive for no reason other than the fact that he could drink as much as he wanted for free because his presence usually discouraged patrons from fighting. Those who insisted on fighting anyway gave him a perfect excuse to let off some steam and crack their heads before throwing them out in the litter-strewn back alley amid the bored whores and the stumble-over, retching drunks.

This was one of those nights, however, when McLeary was walking the fine line between being a helpful if somewhat abusive patron and a real nuisance.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Thomas,” Ernest Wallace, owner of the establishment and its de facto bartender, said. “How ‘bout you come back tomorrow and pick up where you left off?”

“I know what yer doin’, you cheap bastard,” McLeary slurred. “Ya just want me gone ‘cause you don’t make no money off of my drinks.”

“I won’t deny that,” Wallace conceded.

“Tell you what,” McLeary said. “I’m gonna find you some gator eggs. Fetch you a good bit of money, they will, and you can’t say I never gave you nothin’.”

“Sounds like a great way to get yourself killed,” Wallace said. “Why don’t you just go home, get some sleep?”

“I’ll go home after I get you yer gator eggs,” McLeary promised. “I won’t be a minute, you’ll see.”

And thus did Thomas McLeary make his unsteady way out of Doyle’s and into the swamp outside of Saint-Denis in the middle a starless, moonless night. In his advanced state of intoxication, and because of the fog that shrouded the marshes where gator nests are often found, he did not see the danger lurking in the dark. He was, however, startled to find a man hanging from a tree, and had he been less impaired by alcohol, he might have noticed the arrows and the deep gashes all over the quickly decomposing body, which would have told him the man had not taken his own life but had been savagely murdered.

Had he been completely sober, he still might not have heard the killers making their way towards him, silent as ghosts, their clothes little more than rags and their faces painted in ghastly pale colors. They did not make a sound as they came down upon him either, wielding their machetes and their bows and arrows with unforgiving precision, while he screamed, in horror and in pain, as his own blood filled his lungs until he lay, unmoving, on the bloody, marshy ground.

The body of Thomas McLeary was never found and is believed to have been eaten by the alligators that abound in the area. But there are some who think that the policeman met a very different fate at the hands of the dreaded Night Folk, although you will only hear them say so in whispers, when they are well and truly drunk and no one pays them much heed…

SPOILER ALERT: The following contain spoilers for the video game Red Dead Redemption 2. If you have not played the game and intend to do so, you may want to skip the end of this chapter entirely.

John Marston walked into the Blackwater police department half expecting to be arrested on the spot and dragged by the neck to the nearby gallows. Instead, the chief of police looked him up and down and said:

“You look like an honest enough feller. If I can interest you in bounty work, the poster’s on the wall.”

“Thanks, chief,” Marston said as he went to inspect the wanted notice.

The man on the poster sported a thick gray beard and a hat apparently made out of a bear’s head.

“It’s a sorry situation with them mongrel dogs, the Skinner Brothers,” the chief commented. “Just when you thought this country had been _civilized_. You hear what they done up near Tall Trees? Might be worth a look for ‘em if you can stomach it.”

Marston had heard plenty of what the Skinner Brothers had done over the years, all of which had been nasty. There was, however, one incident that had taken place back in 1898, before the whole Blackwater heist mess and everything that had happened with Dutch. A couple of ranchers had been attacked on their property and had been kidnapped by the Skinner Brothers, one of whom was the man on the poster Marston was now holding. Luckily for the ranchers, they had been rescued by some of the people at Manzanita Post, and Marston made a mental note never to get on the wrong side of Nils and his Norwegian friends. Just in case.

After what the Skinner Brothers had done to Uncle, Marston had always regretted not going back with Charles and finishing the job. Catching Elias Green would be a step in the right direction and it was good money. Not that he needed it anymore, but it was the right thing to do. It was the only reason Abigail had agreed to let him go back to bounty hunting.

“You better not come back in a box, John Marston,” Abigail had warned him, “or I’ll bring you back to life and kill you myself.”

“I’ll be fine, darling,” Marston had told his wife, “so you won’t need none of that voodoo.”

She had turned his back to him with a huff, but this was as close as he would ever get to having her blessing.

“I’ve got another poster here, just came in this morning,” the chief of police said. “Otis Skinner. I figure if you’re going to go after one of the Skinner Brothers, you might as well get the other one too. Not that I expect you to bring them in alive, but I’d sure as hell love to spit in their eye before they hang.”

“The mountain country’s full of Skinner Brothers,” Marston remarked. “Can you tell me why these two, Elias Green and Otis Skinner, have got warrants on ‘em?”

“I’d send you after every last one of ‘em jackals if I could,” the chief replied. “Reason these two have got their pictures up is the mayor signed off on ‘em. That’s that.”

In other words, these two had done something to the mayor himself, or they had done something to someone the mayor cared about. It mattered little to Marston. They had done something to him and to someone he cared about, and that was enough.

“I’ll see about ‘em, sir,” Marston told the chief.

“Kill ‘em if you have to. And give ‘em my best.”

It took Marston half a day to track them down in Tall Trees, but he eventually caught the scent of their atrocities and was immediately reminded of why these men deserved everything that was coming to them. A rope around their neck or a bullet, it made no difference to him, as long as both of them stopped breathing.

There were bodies everywhere, some splayed upon racks, skinned and roasted, some piled up in the back of a wagon, some strapped to trees and pierced with dozens of arrows, and some hanging from branches, covered in cuts as their blood pooled on the ground underneath. This was a Skinner Brothers camp, all right, but Marston had known that from the smell alone.

He heard voices and cries of pain from some distance away and got as close as he possibly could without being spotted. He could see Otis Skinner torturing a naked man, with at least half a dozen of his men cheering him on.

“Otis Skinner,” Marston called out as he came into view, displaying the wanted poster. “I’ve got a warrant for your capture, so come with me peacefully and I won’t have to kill your friends here.”

“Well, look at that,” Otis Skinner said with a cruel grin. “A bounty hunter. Is it just the one of you? ‘Cause you’re not very scary.”

“And you’re not very smart,” Marston retorted. “I’ve already got my gun on you.”

The look on Skinner’s face was the same one he had seen on Micah Bell’s despicable mug just before he had emptied his revolver in it. Time slowed as soon as Marston noticed Skinner’s hand going for his gun and it looked to him as though a target was painted not just on Otis Skinner’s forehead, but on that of all the men who presented an immediate danger.

Marston shot six times in quick succession; the first one went right between Skinner’s eyes, his head snapping back before he toppled over and fell to the ground. The next five shots also hit, leaving only one man standing, who hesitated just long enough for Marston to throw his knife and send its razor-sharp blade sinking deep into the man’s left eye. Marston stood still, ready to take on any remaining threat, until he was sure that he was the only person who still had a heartbeat within shooting distance, aside from the man the Skinner Brothers had been torturing. He went to see to the poor soul, who recoiled in fear when Marston approached.

“Easy, there,” Marston said, trying to sound as unthreatening as he could. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Marston untied him and helped him to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“I… think so,” the man said.

“Try to find some clothes,” Marston advised him, “then take one of their horses and head over to town. You’ll want to see a doctor.”

The man nodded and went to look for something to cover his nakedness. He soon found a pair of trousers and put them on a fast as his shaking, bleeding limbs would allow, then managed to mount one of the horses, albeit with some difficulty.

“Thank you, mister,” he said. “I thought I was going to die here.”

Marston wished him good luck as he rode off, then went about reloading his revolver and recovering his knife before checking on Otis Skinner. Dead, with a .44-caliber bullet hole in his head like a gruesome third eye. Marston picked up Skinner’s corpse and carried it to his horse, then mounted and began to make his way back to Blackwater. He would have to come back later for Elias Green, although he had no doubt that the man would go into hiding as soon as he found his dead buddies.

He was about to click his tongue and get his horse moving when something caught his ear: voices.

“What the devil happened here?” one man exclaimed.

“Are they dead?” another man asked. “Where’s Otis?”

Marston got off his horse as quietly as he could, then silently made his way towards the voices.

Four more men, all of them Skinner Brothers. One of them was unmistakably Elias Green.

This time, Marston decided not to take any chances and before any of them knew what was happening, he had taken down all of the men except for Green.

“Put your hands up, Elias!” Marston said, his revolver aimed at the murderous outlaw’s head. “I can take you in alive or dead, your choice.”

“Who the hell are you?” Green asked. “How’d you know my name?”

“You’ve been a bad man, Elias,” Marston said, showing him the wanted poster. “And that’s coming from a man who’s done plenty of bad things himself. Nice hat, you’re wearin’.”

“I’ll make you into a hat, mister,” Green sneered.

Marston snorted. “I’d love to see you try. Now get down on your face.”

Green did as he was told and Marston began to hogtie him, but Green threw a handful of grit in his eyes before he could shield his face. Marston recoiled and kicked blindly, catching Green in his side. He kicked again, repeatedly, wiping at his face and blinking the dirt out of his eyes, while the other man could do nothing but grunt in pain and try to roll away from the assault.

Green eventually caught Marston’s leg and twisted it, forcing him to the ground. The two men began wrestling and Marston soon ended up on his back as the bigger, stronger man gained the advantage over him, pounding him with a barrage of punches. Marston managed to block or dodge the worst of it and Green quickly grew exhausted, which gave Marston the opening he was looking for. He grabbed hold of the man’s beard and yanked it down, once, twice, three times, while smashing his forehead into Green’s nose and mouth, before finishing him off with a couple of elbows to the jaw. Green went down like a rock, right on top of Marston, who had to exert considerable effort to push him off and move out from under him.

“That was really, really dumb,” Marston said in a panting voice as he resumed tying up the now unconscious Green.

Marston used up the last of his strength to carry Green to his horse and place him on top of Otis Skinner’s still warm corpse. He took a moment to rest, as his fight with Green had spent him, then climbed into the saddle and rode off to Blackwater, keeping and eye out for more Skinner Brothers.

Green came to just as they reached the edge of the forest and immediately began uttering threats. “It ain’t a smart man turns his back on me. I’m gonna kill you, ya hear?”

Marston ignored him, but Green wasn’t done. “You’ve got a wife somewhere? You smell like you got a lady! I’d sure like to meet her, feller. Think you can fix so we’re introduced?”

Green let out a wheezing laughter that Marston cut short with a back fist to his face. “You may get a wife of your own in prison. Now keep your mouth shut before I change my mind and shoot you in the head. It makes no difference to the chief of police and I’ll get paid the same.”

Whether Green wizened up or simply ran out of things to say, Marston did not care much either way and was grateful for the silence. Before long, they had reached the Blackwater police department and Marston carried Green in like he was one of the sacks of grains or bales of hay he had to haul around his ranch.

“Well,” Marston told the chief, “I’ve got you that Skinner Brother, Elias Green. A bit worse for the wear, but alive.”

“Elias Green, as I live and breathe!” the chief exclaimed, clearly impressed. “Put him in a cell.”

“You ain’t got a rope strong enough for me, sheriff,” Green said.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” the chief replied. “And that’s ‘chief’ to you.”

“I’ve also got the other one, Otis Skinner,” Marston told him after locking Green up. “I’m afraid he ain’t talkin’ too much, on account of the big hole I made in his head.”

“Go put him in the back with the rest of the trash,” the chief said, unperturbed. “Your money will be waiting right here for you.”

Elias Green’s execution took place a few days later and drew a sizable crowd. Among the onlookers were four Asian women who had come all the way from Saint Denis for the specific purpose of watching this unsavory character hang. One had a handsome face framed by silver-colored hair and was dressed in elegant if somewhat masculine clothes; next to her stood a round-cheeked beauty who could easily have passed for the youngest of the group but was in fact the oldest; there was also an unassumingly pretty girl with plump lips and a deep dimple on her right cheek and, standing by her side, was another young woman whose exquisite features were arranged into a mask of quiet confidence as she looked on.

“The Skinners are a scourge on this whole state,” the marshal declared. “With great pleasure, I have been ordered to hang you for your misdeeds. Elias Green, a member of the Skinner Brothers gang, mutilated and murdered countless innocent travelers. He left appalling scenes of brutality in his wake. Well, Mr. Green, your foul reign is at an end. You will reap what you have sown. For your evils, you will hang.”

The marshal turned to the executioner. “All right, let’s end this bastard. Do it.”

The platform dropped and Elias Green with it. The condemned kicked and flailed for a moment, making horrid strangled sounds as the noose tightened around his neck and throat, but he soon went still. Several minutes passed as the crowd watched in silence until the doctor finally pronounced him dead. The rope was cut and the dead man’s body was lowered into a coffin as the onlookers began to disperse.

The round-cheeked beauty spoke to her companions in a language no one could understand, and the four Asian women walked away together. They were later seen in one of the the first-class wagons of a train headed for Saint Denis, speaking quietly among themselves.

The year was 1907. The Wild West was on its last legs and a new era was dawning.

* * *

  
**AUTHOR’S NOTE:** If you've enjoyed this story, please consider giving it an upvote—it's free, only takes a second, and is a huge morale booster. Comments and subscriptions are also greatly appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Thank you for your time and support, I hope to see you in the next one!

**Author's Note:**

> FINAL WORDS
> 
> As I prepare to post the final chapter of this story, I am overcome with contradictory emotions. On the one hand, I'm gladdened by the prospect of completing what I had set out to do a few months ago; on the other hand, I'm saddened by the thought of seeing something into which I have poured my heart and soul come to an end. And lurking in the dark somewhere is the fear of finding myself without a reason to wake up early every morning, without something to focus my mind on so it doesn't sink back into its black pits of despair and despondency.
> 
> While I have seeds of ideas for future stories, it will take some time before I have something that I am truly happy with. I would welcome any ideas you may have if you were willing to share them in the comments. I cannot promise that I will use them, but I will definitely give each of them careful consideration.
> 
> A thousand times thank you, dear reader, for coming along with me on this journey and sticking around until the end. I hope to see you in the next one.


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